When Hell Freezes Over
by JusticiaBee
Summary: I wondered what really happened after Gio walks out that door in BSL. Where does he go? How can he just disappear when his deli is next door to Mode's? Well, here's my explanation. It might be just this one off - or if I'm inspired,more will follow.
1. Chapter 1

WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER

A selection of messages from the Hell's Kitchen official web-page on Fox, shortly after the airing of the show where the season's viewer favorite was sent home:

_Ramsaygirl:_

"I have always respected Chef Ramsay, but now I seriously doubt his integrity. Everybody could see the wrong cook was sent home tonight. The two dorky blondes in the finale are nice enough looking, but this show is not meant to be about looks, but skills. The only one of the three remaining cooks this week who had an idea, a vision, a plan for his cooking and who showed us some passion about the trade was the one you sent home. Thank you for making me believe America is the country where everything is possible. (In case you didn't notice, Ramsay: That was sarcasm!) I am now officially an EX Ramsaygirl."

_Cookie73:_

"Hey! Are you all Idiots over at NBC????? Are you totally blind? Didn't you see how that Michelle-blonde-poseur-at-her-worst sabotaged Gio's main dish? I have been winding back and playing it over at least 25 times this eve, and even if she tries to hide what she's doing, I am almost 100% sure she is adding some herbs to Gio's casserole when he turned the back on her. You can almost see her hand moving some 4 minutes 27 seconds after the 2nd advertising break. I really wish some high up in the NBC could take a look at this. It's this Michelle slut who should have gone home tonight, not Gio!"

_I'mCookingToo:_

"This is so wrong! Bring Gio back!"

_ChefBelinda:_

"I knew this would happen! Haven't I told you so here on the board and on all Gio fan boards since program 1 this season? I said they would find a way to throw out the only Real Cook before the finale, as the hot shots of so called cuisine in this country just couldn't sit tight and watch a deli chef win it all! "Poor skills at this level" – my arse, Chef Ramsay! You show poor skills when you bend for the connaiseur-wannabes and let the only cook with a heart go. But again – I knew it would happen! I am just so sad, and I hate to be right here, and I just want to drown myself in cabernet or melted cheese. Whatever."

_Delilah'sDeli:_

"All the best to you, Gio! I hope you get you own restaurant soon and show that Idiot Ramsay that you are a better cook than him. You are already a better person! I)'m so glad we kicked him out of England – ha ha!!! And should you ever come to Bristol, UK, my door will always be open for you. I love you! *Kisses*"

_Billy80:_

"You angsty bitches: Gio didn't know a lobster from a crab, and he totally had nothing to do on the show. The only reason why you are whining and bickering over his departure is because he has this raw sex appeal that makes ovaries of stupid shallow women ache. Without his looks he is nothing! And I can say this because I am a struggling cook, and though I didn't make it to the show even if I did the casting in three cities, I know my kitchen skills. I just don't look like this Giovanni Rossi. To all you bitches: Ha ha!"

_Granny Beth:_

"I liked the young man who had to go tonight, but he was a little too angry and outspoken, and he must know you address your superiors the way he spoke to Chef Ramsay, who was right to show him the door. Having said so much, I am sure young Rossi will find his place in this world. He can make my sandwiches any day. And one day he will find a sweet young woman to cook for. I am holding my thumbs for Zac."

_Gioslover:_

"BRING BACK MY GIO!!!!"

_Gio-Gurl-4Ever:_

"That's it! With Gio gone I will watch this show again when hell freezes over!"

_SandwichGirl:_

"You had to cheat to kick Gio out! Didn't want him to have that restaurant, huh? He wasn't good enough for you? You have anything against Italians, huh?"

_mrsrossi:_

"I was left in shock after Gio had to throw in the apron, and as I just couldn't understand how this could happen – he was The Favorite, right? all the betting companies were sure he would win, right? – I have spent the night watching all the previous shows --- well, his parts of them anyway, and I think I see a pattern here.

Follow me, will you :-) When they started off, he was the guy all the fellas liked, he was the mate of everyone, he could talk with anyone, and no challenge was too big, no challenge too small, if you see where I'm going? And the girls – well, you know Gio, right? He flirted with them all, even with that sour old bag who got on everybody else's nerves, and he even won her over. And at one point in ep 4 you can see that Michelle really really started to like him. You remember the almost kiss they shared? And he tells her – in a totally sweet and emotional way, that he can't do that, not to her, not to himself, this is a competition, right? And his heart already belongs to someone else (oh that is so sweet – I just love a guy who is that emotional and can admit he does love someone who doesn't love him back, but he still stays faithful to her!) and it's from then Michelle starts being a real bitch towards him, and she turns almost all the other girls against him, right? After all, the girls with that femi Zac with his dyed too blonde curls held this in their hands, sabotaging all the other fellas, one by one, Gio being the last Man standing. Proudly so – he is the moral winner of this season, I don't care what Chef Ramsay says. I have watched, winded back and forth, and I see how they make all the fellas stress and how they make silly mistakes and almost fatal errors due to that stress. Women can be so manipulating! (I know – I am after all a hot blooded woman!) Well, that Michelle cow was scheming it all the way from ep 1 where she of course noticed Gio (how could she not!) and decided she wanted both him and the restaurant, and when she couldn't have him, she went all bitter and ugly – and I have seen women like her before, so she ruthlessly ruined Gio's chances and life.

Gio on the other hand, was a true gentleman from minute one. That's what I love about him. He never tried to make anyone else look foolish, he never took part of the games played, he never belonged more to one group than the other – he just was himself. After all he can't be blamed for good looks and charisma! If you use that against someone (like that Michelle bitch and her entourage did) that simply reflects back on you and show how small and, Ok, stupid you are.

Gio can be proud of his appearances on this show. He was the only truly decent person on this season – the Big Chef included. I'm not afraid to say that. He obviously thought Gio's background as a deli cook was too simple, too humble, too down to earth. It was the little man versus the world of cuisine – and stupid me, for a while there I believed the little man could win. I should have known better!

Well, I won't watch the season finale. I don't care who wins of the two helium head blondes. And I doubt I will ever watch this show again – knowing how they rigged for Gio to be kicked out.

It wasn't fair, and you producers and whoever: You know it.

Gio – this year's moral winner!"

_Giofanette:_

"How, how, how could this happen? Honestly guys, the only reason for why I watched this show has now been kicked out? Who does this Ramsay bloke think he is? Seriously! Go back to b****y England and where the heck you come from!!!! Gio is our guy! You hear me? Bring him back on NOW! These finalists don't reach to Gio's ankles! How could you seriously eat the crap they served? HONESTLY! I will NEVER watch this show ever again! NEVER!"

He had survived one of the roughest training periods man could get into – unless you of course was desperate enough to get involved with the French Foreign Legion. He wasn't there yet. He actually had grown as a person, and he could deal with everything, he could face any challenge fate had waiting for him. He could smile while being spat at. And he wished he'd had this experience a few months earlier, as he would have taken her cold shoulder so much better had he carried this luggage then. As it turned out, the rage he bore as he left the woman he'd thought was his life, his everything, had made him passionate and hell bent to succeed, had made him meet every new challenge with fury and fire, but he all in all, had been too angry.

His anger made him fall.

He had tried too hard.

One week away from the career he had dreamt of, the career he still dreamed of. It would have made everything so easy. He'd have everything on that silver platter he had heard of, but never seen with his very eyes.

Had he made it to that last week, he would have ended up with that restaurant. Everybody knew that. The two unworthy finalists knew that. Chef Ramsay knew that. That restaurant had had his name over the front door. He had pictured himself in the kitchen. Oh, he had let himself be emotional and - only for a second, showing just a tad too little respect, he had let his focus wander for that split second.

"You call this edible?" Chef Ramsay spat the words. Gio was glad the Chef didn't actually spit out the mouthful of his carefully cooked main dish.

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"Taste!" the Chef urged him to, and Gio took a big mouthful, immediately understanding his mentor's fury.

Chili pepper!

He hadn't put chili pepper into the sauce. Garlic, yes, but no chili pepper. And he had tasted it seconds before pouring it over the meat. He'd turned his back to the casserole for a split second when laying the veal on the plate – and he trusted his contestants – Michelle and Zac wanted to win, they wanted it just as much as he did, but they were decent enough people. So he thought – and he didn't stay alert.

Stupid of him, but he couldn't point a finger at any of them. He didn't know who had made a fool out of him. For all he knew it could be both. And he was man enough to leave the show in style. He could still hold his head high.

"I have had hopes in you, Gio," Chef Ramsay continued. "For what it's worth I have seen true talent in you – even if you do allow your personal life into the kitchen, and you know I think that a sin, right?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Of course your training isn't as varied and at the same level as that of Michelle and Zac here. You come from a lunch deli place, and they are sous chefs at big restaurants, but till this very point you have matched them, putting in energy and passion and stretched yourself beyond what I thought possible… but here it ends. We are closing up on the finale week, and we can't have personal faults, we can't have distractions, we can't have your goofing around, Mr. Rossi."

"No, sir!"

"I'm afraid you will have to leave us tonight, Gio!"

"Yes, sir!"

He unbuttoned the chef's costume, tossed over his shoulder, shook Chef Ramsay's hand, but didn't stay long enough to take in those words of wisdom Gordon had to offer. He blew Michelle and Zac a kiss and was surprised at how easy it was to leave them. He'd thought they were friends. He had spilled out his heart to them over the weeks, and he had thought they had shared something real.

Obviously they hadn't.

He grabbed his already packed suitcase and left the place. He wasn't one of America's culinary elite. He didn't have nor the skills nor the stamina to capture the wrath of Chef Ramsay's, to survive the heated emotion and the adrenaline rush in one of the most hostile environments on planet earth. He wasn't the next top-notch chef of the continent.

He was outspoken and competitive, he was passionate and skilled – but not enough.

Again he didn't quite make it.

He grabbed a newspaper in the lobby while waiting for the taxi that would take him to the airport. He had no job. He had given up the deli for the Hell's Kitchen dream. A guy had to take some chances.

There were more people looking for jobs than those offering any, but an ad caught his eye, intrigued him, tempted – and it felt right.

"Skilled cook, able to endure pressure and isolation, needed for 1 year contract at the US Science Station at Antarctica."

Gio cancelled the cab and dialed the phone number listed in the advertisement.


	2. Chapter 2

When Hell Freezes Over, Chapter 2: GIONISTAS UNITE!

"Hey, Betty, you noticed that Michelle bitch won 'Hell's Kitchen'?" Hilda waved her newly polished nails in Betty's direction. Scarlet red, nothing less.

"Uhum," Betty tried to show no emotions, as she was fully aware of where Hilda was heading.

"I never thought she was worthy of reaching the finale." Hilda didn't look straight at her sister. "Just think of how she treated Gio…"

"Gio is old and ugly enough to take care of himself," Betty cut Hilda off. "He signed for the show. He knew it wasn't like 'Sesame Street'. I'm sure he knew what he was in for – and I hear he got farther than any of us would have expected him to…"

"You _hear?_" Hilda lifted one beautifully picked brow. "Honey, I know you watched every episode of 'Hell's Kitchen' while Gio was on. I know, because I know you, and I know because I never got through to you on the cell during the shows…"

Betty twisted her mouth. She didn't know what to say. Sisters were dangerous. They knew you too well. Of course she had watched every minute of this recently completed season. Till Gio was told to go, anyway. He was a friend. Had used to be. They'd been close. She had wanted him to win, she was no monster. She wasn't ready for a relationship, she didn't love him the way he – _had_ – loved her, but she wished him well. She wished him luck and happiness and… everything good. Ducklings in the garden, kittens in his laps, little birdies sitting on his shoulders…

She was no monster.

"Have you heard from him since? Was he very disappointed? Oh, he must have been. Poor Gio! He so decerved that restaurant, don't you think? I thought I'd save and travel to SF had he won, and just dine there one eve, and like when the waiter brought the menus, tell him to say 'hi!' to Chef Gio from one of the NY Suarez' girls. I reckon he would have come running from the kitchen to check which Suarez sister was present! Now that would be a sight!"

Hilda laughed full heartedly.

"Why would I hear from him?" Betty asked, her voice rising. "He didn't even tell me he casted for 'Hell's Kitchen'. I was just as surprised as you when he turned up on screen. He sold the deli without telling me. I have not heard from Gio. No. I am not his keeper!"

"Well, that Michelle will never see this foxy lady in her restaurant!" Hilda gave her nails a third coating. "That's a true 'Hell's Kitchen' for you. I read she gave Zac a job there. Not _one _little devil overlooking the stoves, but _two_!"

Again she laughed, but her sister wasn't equally amused.

"Where do you read such useless gossip?" Betty demanded to know.

"Where? At the Hell's Kitchen message board, of course! I'm _SandwichGirl._"

"You actually _post_ on that board?" Betty pushed her glasses almost in place. Twice.

"Well, of course! I'm proud to say I was one of the hardcore _Gionistas_ who built up Gio's fan base! And I tell you, we are getting more and more worried, 'coz he hasn't given any interviews after he left the show – well, was kicked out, and no one seems to know where he is. That Michelle bitch, you know, she said she'd like to employ him as well in that fancy restaurant – rub it in, bitch!! - but he had left no address and his phone was like switched off all the time, so she tried to reach him through the board… I would become queen of the Gionistas had I come up with hot news. I so hope he is OK. You never know – must have been a trauma for him to be kicked out like that when the whole country was sure he'd win. That stress syndrome – you never know when that comes kicking in. I've seen it on ER – or 'Grey's Anatomy' – wherever. You sure he hasn't contacted you?"

"I'm sure."

Betty rolled her eyes. _Gionistas_!! Sisters didn't know each other as well as she had imagined after all.

"I'm the last person he'd contact. And quite frankly, I don't care. He's the last person who occupies my mind."

Betty wouldn't have been human had she not looked up the message board the minute she enjoyed the privacy of her own flat. She even pulled the curtains.

She had never visited the web page – she hadn't dared to, and she was unprepared for his smiling face beneath the red, harsh cross out mark. That big smile and glittering eyes still made her toes curl – and she noticed her arms were covered in goose bumps.

That was sheer chemistry. Superficial attraction. A poster of James Dean resulted in the same itch – and he was dead! It had nothing to do with real emotions. Nothing to do with love.

There were photos from the kitchen events. Betty was helplessly drawn to click to watch. Gio had somehow managed to weasel himself into a good fifty percent of all photos. He had women all over. If anything he showed his true nature. He'd told her she'd broken his heart, but he didn't seem to be suffering much – only weeks later; damsels and bitches draped all over his well known, muscled body.

There were videos. Her fingers searched and found, she had no will power left – or she just wanted to see what this former mate had been up to. Deleted scenes were tempting. Betty blushed while watching. She obviously was no average _Gionista_!

'Hell's Kitchen' wasn't exactly a family show, too much foul language, but the undertones in these deleted scenes would have sent it to adult pay TV! She heard his voice, saw him move, heard that laughter that sent chills of pleasure up her spine. Oh yes, she was ever so lucky to have escaped a relationship with him! Sweat covered her upper lip. She escaped once more, exploring a link to some innocent (she hoped) fan videos on youTube.

Too late she discovered that the internet had developed to a pit of sin!

Betty ended up with a video where Gio repeatedly flashed his chest – not because he'd done that multiple times, but because the creator of the video had looped the same 8 second sequence to last a good minute and clipped it together with zooming in and out on Gio's upper arms, both biceps and triceps, Gio's lower arms, his chest – nipple zoom in, nipple zoom out, same Gio's belly, concentrating on his belly button. And she realized he had a way of sitting broad legged…

She truly honestly hadn't seen that before! But this _Dolores Dickinson_-woman obviously knew a crotch when she saw one. She seemed to have a thing for butts as well. At least she had the decency to end her work of art with a shot of his smile. Gio smiling ear to ear while waving the knife at the camera.

Holy Mary – that smile!

All followed by _"Desire"._ Betty could never listen to that song again. Who was this woman who openly flagged her – _lust _for Gio, a guy she didn't know, a total stranger?

Betty was disgusted. She didn't understand this, but to fully explore the nature of female filthy imagination, she bravely returned to the web page covering the kitchen dramas and navigated herself to the message board.

That was worse than expected, even worse than the video.

Practically all was beyond her imagination, and she was after all a writer at heart, she had imagination!

The topic list was a full menu of swooning over Gio, admiring Gio, Gio-desire, more than 50 women wanting to marry Gio – and that was just for starters. The main dish had to be the petition _"Gionistas unite!"_ started by _ChefBelinda_. So far 2627 women, obviously all ages 12-70, had signed. There was a _granny_ among them! The majority didn't know what they demanded, Betty realized scrolling down, one page after the other.

Her sister (_SandwichGirl_) was however very clear: _"Kick that Michelle cow out of that SF restaurant and let Gio have it as he has deserved it! Gio rocks! Gio as CHEF for HK, SF!!!"_

A _JusticiaCee_ threw a verbal tantrum over fourteen paragraphs, and she hadn't even spell checked what she delivered. Betty was shocked.

There couldn't be that many lunatics in America! Reading it all a second time, she realized the lunatics came from Europe and Asia and even Australia, in addition to America - North, Latin and South. The folly had spread worldwide! Only Africa was spared, but then they had enough worries – they didn't need to be infested by _Gionistas_ as well.

Betty's cheeks burned. She hoped he hadn't seen this. He would be…

She didn't know what he'd think or feel or do. For all she knew, he'd totally adore his new celebrity status. He could have a new date every day the next three years, and that was choosing solely between _Gionistas_. There could be even more – unlisted – women ready to open their kitchens and arms for him.

The thought made her sick.

How could women humiliate themselves like this?

There was a post obviously from Michelle, the winner this season. She'd signed in as _Queen_Michelle_. Yeah, right! And she obviously had some schooling.

"_**Gio, where art thou?**__ Your Queen hopes you will be in touch, as that job I promised you will always be open for you. No hard feelings on my account, darling! I will always enjoy a man of your capacity in my kitchen…"_

("…and not only there!" Betty thought.)

"…_You will be royally rewarded should you return, willing and able to add your special flavors to special compositions - under my supervision *giggles and flashes eyelashes*. I hope you're not escaping the government or something, BTW, ha ha. Had some very serious guys at my door, asking all sorts of questions about you. Zac guesses you're gone underground as you're really the son of some dodgy godfather. Zac's sense of humor. Seriously, my Prince – give me a call. I have a chef's outfit with your name on… Ciao!" _

_My Prince_? That was gross. Just as rude as suggesting Gio was involved in organized crime. Most people were so shallow and narrow minded! They had no idea of other cultures or countries or – anything…

Funny Michelle mentioned the serious guys. There had been some _serious guys_ over at Mode as well, just after the deli was sold and Gio had disappeared. They had asked about him – general questions really, and she had just said the same as everybody else at Mode.

"_Sorry, I didn't really know . I bought sandwiches at his deli from time to time, but I can't really tell you anything about him…"_

After all – she didn't want to get him in trouble or anything.

Who had these men in dark suits been? Why had they asked about Gio?

Irrational fear built up in Betty's chest. Her heart pounded, she was close to bursting into tears, but she bit her lower lip till the physical pain was stronger than the pain in her heart.

Gio was a grown man. He owed her nothing. He made his own choices. He'd made his own jump.

"Say something to me in your language, baby! I love the sound of it."

He lay on one elbow, smiling seductively while he slid a finger softly from just below her ear, along her shoulder, back to her neck and slowly, slowly let it follow her spine all the way to where the duvet started and covered most of her hips and buttocks.

"Say what?" she asked and let the blonde waterfall of hair roll towards and over the cushions she crushed under her pale, curved body. She was content, still smiling, still dozy, stretched out on her belly, lazily looking at him – looking with those clear, blue eyes, looking without being shy. She was a woman who knew what she liked. She liked what she saw.

"Anything. You can say just anything," he assured in that hoarse voice.

His voice made her think of summer vacations in Italy when she was a teenager. Inter railing Europe with two girlfriends one eventful summer, they had met a couple of Gio's and Sergio's and Andrea's – and they had collected some memories that didn't necessarily suit in albums. That tiny Italian accent of this Gio's, that low hoarseness in his voice, brought her back to that time – to wonderful summers where a pretty blonde never had to walk alone in any Italian town.

"You can swear for all I care," he said. "It sounds like music, no matter what. I like it. And I'd like to learn your language – another language comes handy. I'm only bilingual, you know. I only speak English and Italian. You outnumber me with your six. I'd really like to learn Swedish. Teach me! Please!"

"I love you begging," she purred. "I could do lots of things for a man who begs…"

"I'm begging!" He humbled himself and stretched to be able to kiss her hip. A loose strand of dark hair fell over one eye, making him look boyish and totally irresistible.

"_Jag tycker om dej, Gio,"_ she said softly. Making every word a kiss.

"Once more!"

She said it again.

"_Ya ticker um day_!" he repeated, and she rolled over, laughing so much that the mattress behaved like a water bed.

"Can't be that funny," he sulked, pretending to be hurt.

She curled up close and kissed him as shamelessly passionately as only Scandinavian women could kiss. All those mags Gio had sort of accidentally browsed through at poorer raised cousins' places, had always indicated that Scandinavian women had no shame when it came to – dealing with men, liberation had reached beyond borders. And my, did she prove the mags right!

"You said it beautifully," she told him, her lips touching his.

"What does it mean?" he asked. "Anything like _te amo_ or _I love you_?"

She giggled and let her hands caress his warm, smooth chest. She was a lady in no rush.

"Now why would I say _te amo_ to you?"

"You tell me, Anna!" he breathed heavily.

"I said: I like you a lot, Gio…" she whispered into his ear. Her warm breath could have melted the icicles hanging from the roof outside.

"_Ya ticker um day_ too, Anna," he responded.

"Show me how much!"

Those Scandinavian women were full of demands – but Gio had no problems delivering. He had no problems at all.


	3. Chapter 3

When hell freezes over, ch 3: REBOUND GIRL

"So, tell me about her," Anna urged.

They shared a double sofa in a corner and had turned off most of the light. It was one of the sitting rooms used by everybody at the Amundsen-Scott Pole Station, but at this late hour, most had withdrawn to their own beds – to what Gio liked to call sleeping cubicles. Student dorms were spacious compared to what they had to spread themselves over, but he didn't complain. He liked the simplicity.

He had grabbed the chance to escape NY. Even the US. He had placed as much distance between himself and Betty as there could possibly be. He had made it impossible for him to get in touch with her. There was no chance to fall for temptation – he couldn't accidentally catch a glimpse of her, he couldn't torture himself stalking her, he couldn't ask her out for a coffee – just as friends…

It was harsh medication, but he believed the prescription was right.

He hadn't even brought a photo of her.

While filming 'Hell's Kitchen' he'd kept some cell phone shots of her, and he'd painted himself deep blue staring too long at her pictures. Love should make you feel happy, should fill you with all the jolliest colors of the rainbow. Betty filled him with all the blues there were.

After he was sure the job at Antarctica was his, he deleted all the Betty shots – together with all her text messages he'd saved and her number.

Not that there was cell phone coverage at the South Pole. They were isolated between mid-February and October – the long, cold winter.

He loved the isolation. He loved the tranquility. He loved the southern lights sweeping the sky like waves and ribbons of yellow and green and sometimes even shades of red.

He missed his family. Of course he did. He had always been very close to his folks, and they still were convinced he was crazy going to Antarctica, but they let him make his own choices. They wanted him to be happy. They wanted him to smile.

He had smiled a lot since February when he first came as far south as you could possibly get on earth. He had smiled since he met Anna. She was one of three women based at the station, and from the moment they shook hands, both felt a sparkle of instant chemistry at intense work. They got on like a house on fire from the very first words they shared.

Gio hadn't expected to meet anyone like her in a long time. He hadn't imagined he'd be whirled into a relationship in the foreseeable future, and certainly not that he'd meet a female match at the South Pole. He'd after all gone there to avoid women, to escape any possibilities of being trapped by women who said one thing, acted out a second and meant a third.

Anna had almost healed him.

"Of course there was a woman," Anna insisted. "You're not the kind of guy who dreams of snow and ice and degrees below minus eighty F. You walked straight from TV stardom to this. Never once looking back. Don't tell me that was because you'd heard how a year at the best kitchen at the South Pole would make your resume outstanding?"

"It was as far from Hell's Kitchen as I could get, don't you think" he grinned, always ready to turn every sentence to a joke.

"It was a woman."

Anna made herself comfortable, resting in his laps, trying to catch his glance, but not succeeding. She pushed him by saying nothing. She could stay silent for as long as she had to. It was her second year at the South Pole Station, one year in Nevada in between.

"OK, it was someone," he admitted.

They had reached this point multiple times. He had talked them straight into other issues. He had kissed her. He kissed her now. He had removed her clothing, one by one – all to confuse her, all to make her forget the question. He tried to open some buttons of her top, but she knew the drill and giggling fought him off.

"Someone can come," she told him. "You play hide and seek with me, Gio. Wouldn't it be better to talk? To spill you heart out? I'm a brilliant listener, you know. Nowhere to run, and your story must be just as good as any of the DVD's we have watched twice already…"

She was right. He'd played hide and seek February to August. He'd told her about the deli he sold just like that – but never why it was so darn easy to leave it behind. He had told her about the months at 'Hell's Kitchen', colorful anecdotes about Gordon and the contestants. He had told her about the ad he read which caused him to cancel the ticket home to NY, about the interviews and the security clearance, about the travel and how he had been looking forward to the year. He had told her about his family; how much he loved them. He had photos of them blue tacked to the wall above his bed. But Anna was a woman. Like all women she was curious. Like all women she had this inner radar that went off once someone didn't tell all there was to tell.

He kissed her.

"There was someone…" he repeated.

All that dragging it out was him.

"She has a name?" Anna suggested. Not at all overwhelmed by those semi-Italian lips, no matter what they could do to her. (She was, after all, Swedish! Ingrid Bergman! Britt Eklund. Agneta Fältskog!!!!)

"Yeah," he mumbled.

Anna's lips were soft, totally tempting. They tasted caramel. They had been drinking caramel flavored coffee.

"She has a name," the Swedish goddess breathed. Making him talk was like pulling teeth.

"Betty…"

"Betty," Anna said, and Gio's jaws clenched by the sound of the name. "So you loved her? And suddenly you're filming reality TV and next you're escaping to the South Pole. I suppose it was nothing big, huh? But something happened?"

"Nothing happened." He shrugged his shoulders. He was cool. "She just didn't love me. She liked me. So she said, anyway – no. Seemed to me she more than liked me. I went for it. I've never put in so much before. I tore out my heart from my chest with my bare hands and lay it beating before her – and she didn't want it. She stepped at it. She spat at it. And then she forced me to tell her I was OK with being only friends. Yeah right! Friends! How more humiliated can you get? Figured there was nothing keeping me in NY."

Anna whistled. "And you are not a drama queen, my dear!"

"Well, she did spit at my shoes. Once. Out of accident, but nevertheless…"

"What does she do?"

"She's the personal assistant of an editor in chief – fashion mag. 'Mode'…"

"I wouldn't know. I never read magazines," Anna confessed – much to Gio's pleasure. Superb women didn't read 'Mode'…

"She wants to have her own mag," he said.

"You got a thing for career women, huh?" Anna teased him, giggling. She was über sexy, giggling. She was über sexy always. "So, is she getting that magazine – or will it merely stay a dream?"

"She'll get the mag," Gio said, not a doubt in his mind. "She's a persistant bugger, you know."

Anna wished he could have seen his own expression – but then again, maybe he wasn't ready to face his own emotions. He was a doll. He was one of the most funny fellas she'd ever let into her bed. He was cute and macho – in the sweet way of macho, all in one. Like a love child of Brad Pitt and George Clooney – had that been possible.

"And you have never been rejected before?" She raised a brow.

"Of course I have!"

"I doubt it," Anna said softly. "You're the kind who has dumped girls. You've never been dumped, sweetie."

"I have been dumped! Don't tell me about my life – you know nothing about my life!"

"You had your first kiss early," she said. "You were popular. Lots of mates. I guess you had it in your mouth. And you were the daredevil among them. At some stage – early – girls started to notice you. That made you cooler among the boys. You always had the best looking girlfriends. They were your trophies. You were theirs. You had lots of girls, but it never lasted long. You got bored. You called it quits – you didn't want to get serious, didn't want to get tied down. You wanted your freedom. You, you, you, my sweet…"

She'd been spot on. That scared him.

"8," he said. "I was 8 when I got my first kiss. Was Titti from across our street. She indulged me into it, well, forced me – and gave me a black eye as a reward."

Her brows rose.

"Well, almost nine…"

Still brows. Raisng. High

"8 years, 5 months," Gio said blushing. "She was 12. And she was a looker!!! She had her first kid at 14! Mom used to fold her hands and thank the Virgin Mary I got Titziana out of the system at such an early age."

Anna believed him.

"And I was a short kid – I had to become the joker or I'd never survived school – or my neighborhood. There were lots of kids. Some of the guys started to shave before they turned 11. You had to have something. I have a sense of humor. I can talk. Later I learned to fight. Did some stupid things as a kid – but who hasn't? And there were some girls – I don't pretend to be better than I am. I was no saint – I had fun. I've had girlfriends, but I was young. A kid! No one thought those flings and crushes would last. It wasn't like I'd find a girl at 15 and plan a future with her…"

"Titziana must have believed she'd start a future with that someone…"

"How would I know? I was afraid of Titti after that kiss. What about you? First kiss: How old were you?" he asked, eager to talk about something else.

Anna decided to be honest:" 17."

"No way!"

Her blue eyes were clear as a Lake Como.

"Swedes are idiots!" he claimed. "They waited so long before they dared kiss these tempting lips?"

Anna laughed. "I was a fat, ugly child with braces and glasses. I was a clever child who loved physics and chemistry and maths and always kept my nose in a book… and in Sweden you should look like a petite doll to count as pretty. And Swedish guys are like guys in Queens; they go for the pretty girls…"

"You were an –erhm ---- ugly girl?" he asked in astonishment.

"I was an ugly girl!!!!" Anna claimed. "I know you are used to the pretty girls."

"…I'm not…."

"You don't make up stories!!!" Anna said. "Besides this isn't about me. This is about you. Tell me about this Betty! I bet she's a pretty, little thing too."

"You know you can beat just about any woman if there was a beauty pageant…"

"Betty!"

"You know, she slapped me the first time I dared kiss her. Not that it wasn't worth it – she frenched me. That very first time. Lady has a temper." He smiled.

"Good for her!"

"She has brown eyes," Gio said. He didn't like to think of her. He didn't like to visualize her. Didn't like to put words to what he saw behind closed eyes. "She has wonderful, amazing, deep, very brown eyes. Almost like wells, you know what I am saying?"

"Deep brown eyes," Anna concluded.

"Her parents are Mexican – she has that amazing, golden skin … smooth and golden…"

"Latina?"

"Uhum. Long, dark silky hair. You touch it and it's like touching silk. And that smile! She smiles like a thousand dollars! She has this way of laughing – it just bubbles. She's soft to touch. To hold. Curved. Petite. And she's stubborn. And capable. She organizes everything for everyone. I must be the only person who dared tell her she sometimes was wrong. Who forced her to think of herself – not just be there for everybody else, you know what I mean?"

"One of those sexy bimbos that has it all, even a big, warm heart!" Anna concluded with a sigh. "Why am I not surprised? "

He didn't know where she was heading.

"You are one of the guys who always were cool," Anna said sadly. "You are one of the guys the shy, ugly girls like me swooned over, and you never saw me---"

"…errrgh…"

"… guys like you never saw me!" Anna stated. "I was 10 and had my first periods and thought I was dying!"

"I was 10 and Bettina kissed me and made me show her mine."

"But you didn't feel humiliated!" Anna said. "To you, it's like some medal."

It was. He was Italian.

"You and Betty are the winners in this game, "Anna stated. "You had a youth to remember. You were seen."

Gio couldn't say he saw her now, that he saw Anna – as she wasn't fishing for compliments. But she was amazing! He loved blue eyes. Brown eyes were like - blah… He didn't tell her she was wrong about Betty, though. She didn't need to know.

"You're a dog," Anna stated. "We both know this isn't going to last."

They both knew this wasn't going to last. He nodded, smiling.

"I'm your rebound girl. It's sex," she said.

He shouldn't blush. He really didn't blush. He did.

"Darling, your body is amazing," Anna said. "You have given me lots of pleasure. You will continue to do that. And I hope I will give you some pleasure..."

Anna opened his shirt. Slowly. Three buttons a time. She was sighing. Deep sighs. Shivering. Cheeks blushing. Her hands reached the buckle of his jeans, and he rolled his eyes before he closed them and welcomed her deep kiss.

"I think you still love her," Anna said a few minutes later, her palms caressing his chest. Gio did some caressing of his own, touching warm, soft skin. He wanted to erase Betty totally from his memory.

"No Betty now!" he mumbled. "Absolutely no Betty!"

"You'll see her when you're back – you'll have cooled down by then…"

"I don't want to cool down," Gio whispered, showering Anna's neck in kisses.

"She'll maybe take you back. Maybe she has missed you. If you're meant for each other…"

"We're not," he insisted. "I'll take her back when hell freezes over. No sooner."

He managed to stop Anna from arguing. He sweeped her into his arms, still kissing her, he carried her towards the door.

"My bed or your?" he asked.

"My," she insisted. "Your bed is a pigsty!"

"That's because I never sleep there," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

When Hell Freezes Over ch 4: Online Celebrity

There was nothing new in "Beyond Hell". Betty had now seen everything she hadn't seen on the show. She'd heard Chef Ramsay scream "you useless f***ing pieces of s***!" countless times. She had read every word on the board, and even tried some of the recipes. She had saved all pictures of Gio. The file was password protected on her laptop. Hilda and Justin had this natural curiosity built in – they didn't mean to snoop, but they did. They couldn't find out about this. She'd been silly in the past – and she was silly now, but she didn't flash it.

And it wasn't like she was in love with Gio. She wasn't even the slightest infatuated.

It was merely an interest – a hobby. An innocent hobby, she might add.

She felt stupid, but she was slowly getting addicted to reading the message board – well, the topics on Gio, anyway. She spent a couple of hours every eve googling Gio – and not really finding anything new, and she eventually ended up at the board. All the real news ended there, sooner or later.

"So, what are you silly women up to today?" she said as she used favorites to find the site.

_Billy80 _sulked as usual. He was annoying.

"_Someone keep the gionistas out of the board. They are clogging it up, and this is not a forum to discuss Gio Rossi. This is a HK board! It is for all HK fans, not for shallow Gio fans! If you gionistas want to discuss that smooth talking midget, you can set up your own forum! Michelle, I will gladly come work for you if Gio isn't interested."_

_Midhet! _Gio wasn't a midget. He had a nice, toned body. His arms were muscular. He had really strong shoulders, broad for his length. His chest was hard, and she guessed one could say he had nice legs. The thighs filled his jeans. Sometimes they bulged and threatened to burst his jeans. His rear was – fine. Not everybody could be tall. Gio looked fine the way he was. She would have liked to see this Billy guy. He obviously was jealous of Gio, and couldn't be solely for Gio's cooking. Lots of other fellas had been on the show, and _Billy80_ hadn't written hateful comments about them. He just targeted Gio.

As Betty reread the post, a new post came up under _"Gio is adorable!"_

_Toaster _proclaimed that the _"Gionistas unite!"_ web page was up and running – and no true gionistas would ever be banned from the forum. Even _Billy80_ could sign in should he miss their witty discussions and glamourous company, she (Betty presumed she was a she) commented with just a touch of sarcasm.

Betty jotted down the address – she would try it later. But the link was just too irresistible. Betty closed her eyes as she pushed the mouse button.

His smiling face turned up towards an orange-red background, not totally unlike the HK heading. She needed a minute to get over that. She embraced herself and had to agree it was a good picture. She'd forgotten about that dimple. He hadn't smiled much the last time they spoke. Come to think of it, she had done most of the speaking too. She should get out of her. This place wasn't for her.

Sign in.

Betty was slightly paranoid. She didn't like to sign in. She liked to keep her anonymity. She'd die if anyone found out she was spending time on Gio web-pages. But how could they? She decided which information she gave. She didn't need to tell them anything. She didn't have to say anything at all there – she could just visit and read and see if anyone knew something about him. Nobody else did.

Nick? She couldn't use a name anyone could lead back to her. _SandwichGirl _was bound to be here already! That excluded a lot of the obvious names – no _B_, _Bee, SoCuteIt'sSick_. No _Daisy_ nor _Duckling_ nor _Sundried_Tomatoes_. Neither _Cookie_ nor _Good _Citizen_. Hilda would instantly know it was her, and she wouldn't keep it quiet.

Maybe _Tinkerbell_? No, that was silly. Sweet, but silly.

Or _Luisa_. The name of the cow that gave the milk that eventually ended up as Gio's cheese. She chewed the name for a while, said it out loud, tasted it – but decided against it. Gio would understand it was her if he somehow read the board. She wouldn't be surprised if the lurked here under some alias.

In the end she went for _GirlNextdoor._ That was her.

They all were there; _Granny Beth, Giofanette, Dolores Dickinson_, of course, _Cookie73, Gioslover_ and _mrsrossi_. Plus _SandwichGirl_. And about 100 more.

The _gionistas _had united – and they formed a scary bunch!

One thread provided her with 82 photos of Gio. She downloaded without hesitation. She could delete them later, but she'd watch them first – later. When she didn't hang out on the board. One thread introduced the _gionistas_, and Betty shamelessly and with a great portion of interest, read what they told about themselves. They were school girls and students and hairdressers and housewives. Engineers, architects, photographers, teachers(no wonder kids became unruly these days!) One girl was an army officer. And there were cooks. Real and wannabe chefs. All sorts. Some resumes might be fictional, like most of the intro post from _SandwichGirl_:

"_I am self employed, running a pretty successful chain of hairdressing and beauty salons. Currently between relationships, but I'm looking – and it's OK if he's a Chef. I don't mind a man willing to cook for me. I like to be spoilt. My husband always did that. He loved to pamper me. He was shot trying to stop a robbery taking place some years back. That was a big trauma on me and our son, but we've healed now. My father lives with us. It's nice to know we can take care of him as he's getting older. I am a caring person. Down to earth and I like fashion and beauty and nice guys. Some bad guys too. I know it could never be Gio and I, but I like him all the same. He's just such a fun and passionate guy, and I just like him."_

Hilda had a vivid imagination. Well, Betty wasn't writing any introduction, that was for sure, even if she could have done a better one than Hilda – be true or false.

She only spent a tiny little hour reading the straight-from-the-heart posts. The keenest had made icons of photos of Gio. OK, so she downloaded a few of the icons too, but she had too much dignity to ever sign in and immediately have an icon of Gio's butt next to her name – imaginary such or not. She logged off and tried to fill time with housework

Two hours later Betty had to check if there was something new among the _gionistas_. Hilda was logged in. She was swamped in sympathy. Everybody had commented the death of the _husband_. Santos had to twist in his grave. Her not so truthful sister, however, enjoyed herself big time, loving to be the center of attention. She had a ball telling how she had survived and how she still compared every man to her late beloved one, and not one had reached to his ankles. She just had to break off every relationship because they could never be what HE had been. Or they had been married or had dropped Hilda, not the other way round, Betty thought.

That was intriguing prose for the easily fooled. You could be who you wanted online.

The most popular topic was _"Why I like Gio." _

_mrsrossi _(as if!) wrote:

"_He's just the guy next door. Down to the chore honest in everything he does. He didn't play any games in HK. The rest of them immediately ganged together and there were plans and new plans and how do we drive those we don't like nuts, and I never got under their skin. Gio however, was who I believe he is when there are no cameras around. He made jokes, he was annoyed and he told so, he didn't go brew over some minor irritation till it blew off like a bomb in somebody's face. He got mad at Gordon, he was hurt, he was disappointed – and you knew it all was honest. And I so believed him when I said winning the competition would enable him a new start, as he had had his heart broken and he needed a new start. And I really wanted him to win, as he was so skilled and passionate and you saw how hard he tried all the way. And he deserved the new start, right? And: Who in her right mind would want to break Gio's heart? I feel I hate her a little…"_

_Cookie73 _was ready to kill:

"_She's a dumb ass chick whoever, and I want to kill her! Gio, you can have me!" _

_GrannyBeth: "Now girls, we won't have no fighting here! We are all friends. We don't know what lay behind that break-up. If you remember, he wasn't much willing to speak about it. We don't know how long that relationship lasted, we don't know their history, we don't know their differences. He seemed like a sweet enough young man, but he did have a temper. And he acted out, threw those plates and kicked that dustbin outside the restaurant after just a few words of correction from Chef Ramsay's. I understand why so many of you were charmed. I am charmed too, but I say we don't know more of him than we have seen on TV. Maybe that girl had her reasons for breaking young Gio's heart. Maybe he broke her first?"_

_Gio-Gurl-4Ever: "MY GIO CAN'T BREAK ANYBODY'S HEART!"_

_Giofanette: "I'm still heartbroken. Can you believe it? I know I don't know him – but I feel I do! As no one can act like that. He was the nicest person in those kitchens, I tell you, and I swear I'll never watch HK again! I have switched off the TV when Gordon Ramsay's on for whichever reason. I can't watch cooking shows at all these days, and I really love cooking shows. My husband thinks I'm crazy – but I'm just sad. And mad. Still mad. I'm BTW sure Gio can't break hearts – he just can't. He doesn't have it in him. It's that bitch he was seeing who is to blame. Bet she was just as cheating and evil as that Michelle slut! Give Gio his own show!!!! And dear SandwichGirl – I'm so sorry to read about your hard life. Be proud of yourself and of what you have achieved. You have raised a son. You have your own business and you care for your father. I am sure Gio would have loved to go out with you! He would have been honored to!"_

Betty rolled her eyes. She could have written a few lines on that, but didn't bother to. And she certainly wouldn't dare risk having all that hatred directed at her. How wouldn't the _gionistas_ have reacted had they known that _GirlNextdoor_ – someone in their very midst, was the much hated bitch who with intention broke poor Gio Rossi's innocent heart?

Hilda behaved totally in character.

_SandwichGirl_ was ready to spread her words of wisdom:

"_Nah, Gio and I, we don't have that kind of chemistry. I know he's cute and all and I do love him to bits, but I couldn't love-love him. That would be too weird. I'd go out with him on a friends' night out, as boy, can he move that body! And it's so good to go out with a man you know can dance and who doesn't need to drink to get brave and move on that floor. But I'd not accept a date. He's for you, girls. This chica means no competition!" _

Silly, silly Hilda! Betty was close to giving Hilda a phone call, but she managed to sit still. She wasn't supposed to know that Hilda was about to blow her anonymity. But her sister needed protection against herself.

_ChefBelinda _immediately responded: _"SandwichGirl, you sound as if you know Gio? You do? Or you're just showing off?" _

Betty expected Hilda to log off. She didn't, and 10 minutes later all hell broke loose.

_SandwichGirl_: _"I went out with him once. Between relationships. He's an alright enough guy. Much better looking than on pictures. And he's hot. HOT! But he liked my sister better, and I didn't like him that way anyway."_

Betty counted 15 responses to Hilda's few lines within the next two minutes. Then she logged off and searched for some steamy fan videos on youTube. _Dolores Dickinson_ had been productive. There was a delicious smorgasbord to choose from. The very artistic D must have collected every picture available of him on the internet. Her next move was probably a break in at his parents' house so she could nick the family albums. Betty had to admit she wouldn't have minded seeing pics of Gio as a kid. Or a teenager. She didn't mind seeing pics of Gio.

"I'm not a bad person," Betty addressed Gio who was waving his knife at her while Amy LaVere sang about some mad woman walking around in a park, practicing archery at random benches and innocent victims. Pretty much like Cupid, she supposed. You never know what or who you might hit when you're playing with arrows and archery. "I'm not a bad person," she repeated. "And you would have been over me now, had you stayed in NY. We need to meet, Gio. We need to talk. We need to place this where it's supposed to be: Behind us."

It was stupid, but she tried his number. As usual it said the number was no longer in use.

"Where are you, Gio?" Betty asked.

Gio smiled back at her from the computer screen. He winked his eye and blew her a kiss. Her and any drooling woman (or man) with internet access.

She tried Hilda's phone. It was turned off. _SandwichGirl _was busy sharing inside information on the _gionistas_-forum, Betty presumed.

Betty made a deal with herself: She'd only spend half an hour a day on the forum. She should not watch the HK tapes more than once a week. Time limit – one hour. She should not look at the downloaded photos of Gio more than once a day. She would not be caught in that tide wave of brain washing that rolled over the _gionistas_ – or rather: the silly women who obsessed over Gio. She had to use the right terms – _gionista_ wasn't even a word. They painted a picture that not even Gio would have recognized. They wrote what they thought, and created him into a knight in shining armor. Most women didn't want a knight I shining armor – they just thought they did. And if they got him, they ended up polishing that armor, keeping it shining. That was no life for a modern woman. She needed no love in her life right now. She wanted to get that career moving, she wanted to develop and create a name in the publishing world. She still hadn't written for real. It had been easy to postpone that. No one had pushed her to write after Gio. As usual she had pushed other people to follow their dreams. She'd been a muse, she'd been inspiration, she'd reached out and helped and soothed – and she'd forgotten her own needs. In that sense she needed Gio: He was her conscience. He was her sober conscience – not the dizzy one she hosted when he wasn't around, that only gave her foul advice.

"You could have sent a postcard," she told Gio who tore off his chef jacket – again and again and again, and the grey tee he wore under it. Again and again and yet again. He flexed his muscles while Robbie Williams sang "Sexy man". "Friends send postcards to each other. You said we were friends. You said you didn't blame me for choosing myself."

He looked at her with those dark, cocker spaniel eyes. Betty switched off the computer.

"This is insane," she said. "I'm speaking to myself and you are an online celebrity – and my sister gets her 15 minutes of fame stealing your light. When will this madness end?"


	5. Chapter 5: Ice Princess undercover

WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER ch 5, ICE PRINCESS UNDERCOVER

Anna Ljung was a glaciologist and she loved her job. She had the looks of a model and an IQ high enough to grant her lifetime membership of Mensa, had she been interested. She wasn't. An individualist at heart and of nature, she had struggled hard to become a team worker. She didn't like crowds. She believed only dead fish followed the stream. In her spare time she followed her heart. She didn't take orders well, she was better at giving them. All in all she was happy and content with her life.

Love wasn't on her agenda. Never had been. She experienced crushes, however, and she gave in for them. Sometimes she gave in for a smile or just a flash of attraction. Why shouldn't she enjoy what life had to offer? Still she always made sure she never gave promises. She didn't want to hurt anyone. She didn't believe in marriage. She didn't believe in celibacy. One person couldn't possibly grant you everything you needed as a human being, all you needed to grow and become a better person. You had to get a great variation of input to survive as a sane person. Monogamy was no chant she joined. Her gospel was privacy. She needed much space that was her own, that was for her to fill, and she allowed her close ones the same. No need to quarrel and bitch and bicker over details. If there was a problem: Mouth it. Listen to the other person. Solve it or decide it can't be solved. Move on with life!

Gio Rossi, their new cook, had intrigued her from moment one. He had enough charisma for a small village, and naturally it hit her like a ton of bricks. There was this energy about him. He made her feel extra alive. When he looked at you, you knew he saw you. He paid attention. He maybe wasn't the tall dark stranger women seemed to drool and swoon over, but her eyes didn't ache when she looked at him. He was fun, challenging and honest to the chore. That worked for her. That worked here and now, and here and now was their time frame.

She had no ideal man, no fantasy she had brooded and polished and sworn to stand by, as she had no plans of ever marrying, of ever having a lasting relationship or children. She was destined for a big career. That was her life plan. She told that early in every possible relationship.

At first glance Gio seemed to be just at footloose and fancy free, and the first time they kissed he told her he wasn't looking for romantic handcuffs. He liked her, but he wouldn't ever buy her a ring.

"I'm not big on jewelry, Anna. This is pure physical attraction," he told her. Straight forward, honest – very Gio-ish. "I'm sure you know a lot more about physics and chemistry than I do."

He hadn't switched over to the humiliated "poor me, I don't have your education"-mode, like so many men did once they found out what she did for a living. The majority of men ran when she said she was a glaciologist. The minority tried to joke and asked if she could spell that, and then thought she would concider it a compliment when they said "but you should really be a model, darling – you shouldn't waste your pretty head on ice!"

Gio had been interested. His reaction had been:"Hey, that's cool. That's really cool! So – what exactly do you do? You get to drill down to like 1000 year old ice? And you actually can read something out of that ice? So what were the guys and dolls up to on the South Pole 1000 years ago? Are we talking slow moves and hot dates or the average cold shoulder?"

She'd been able talk about her job to him – and he wasn't just polite. He didn't joke 24/7. He listened, he asked intelligent questions, and Anna never felt she lectured. He told her about cooking. Sometimes he almost revealed secret ingredients. Not that she would ever steal his signature recipes – she could boil eggs, make coffee and burn TV-dinners. That was why expeditions were perfect for her – someone else made her food.

Gio quickly adjusted to his work, the pace, to the life on the Pole Station. He rapidly became very popular at the station. People liked him – and Gio liked people. He wasn't interested in the outside world, however. He communicated with his family on internet, but only once every two weeks. His rules. Other members of the polar population said they wouldn't have survived a week on Antarctica without the internet access. Yet another group remembered the days when there was no internet and total isolation, and had stories about Harsh Conditions, thank you softies! Anna could have lived with that isolation and she was sure Gio would have dealt with it fine. His laidback attitude to the outside world, lead Anna to believe he had escaped something – or rather someone. Polar science lay under the government. They didn't send just any Tom, Dick and Harry down way under. Every member of the staff had security clearances, scientists, mechanics, maintenance workers, cooks… you name it. They all had been cleared. Gio Rossi had to be rated sane and couldn't have a criminal record, he was no brewing terrorist – they believed he could last a year in Antarctica. What Gio escaped had to be from his private corners of life.

Anna wasn't proud of herself when she googled "_betty mode magazine_". '_Mode_' apparently was as hot notch as Gio had made her believe. Clothes weren't high on Anna's 'things I love the most'-list. She couldn't understand why writing about clothes, or merely showing pictures of clothes, could be a job, or alone a passion for grown up thinking people, but what did she know? Editors in chief of 'Mode' were a Daniel Meade and a Wilhelmina Slater.

No mention of any Betty.

Anna however managed to find a presentation of the whole Meade company, including a list of employees. Lots of Betty's. Anna limited it down to the two with Hispanic names – a Perez and a Suarez. Yet another google: "_betty perez new york usa_". Betty Perez was a keen bridge player, participating in competitions nationwide. The picture showed a chubby grandmother in a pink cardigan, a mail order chain of pearls and neatly controlled grey curls. A sharp glance in those dark eyes, big smile, but she couldn't be Gio's Betty.

There was more than one Betty Suarez in New York. Anna found two on MySpace, both seemed too young to be the heart crushing Betty that Gio had described with pain. Both were sweet and pretty and smiling widely, both were dark and brown eyed, but one wrote she had Cuban roots, the other was an exchange student from Spain and confessed her real name was Elisabetta, but Betty was so much cooler and so much more American.

Gio's Betty, alas, was the invisible woman.

Anna decided she'd find her – she'd just have to think through how to attack it more properly. Systematically. She needed more time, not just half an hour in between real work. Just for fun she typed _"gio rossi_". He'd been on TV, there had to be something.

Something didn't describe it.

Anna breathed an _"oh – my- God!"_ and couldn't believe her eyes. Almost a thousand hits for her search! She tried some. Obviously it was no mix up with other possible Gio Rossi's – there were photos to prove his identity. And what photos! Anna's first reaction was that he would be embarrassed. Her next thought that he couldn't know of this. His sister had to know – but she couldn't have mentioned a word about his celebrity status. His sister knew him well. Maybe it was better he didn't know.

But she had to know.

Anna bravely signed in with the steam packed online estrogen guerilla called the _Gionistas_. She went in undercover as _IcePrincess_.

She broke it to him lightly in the privacy of his bedroom – living cubicle – private space, often referred to as '_pigsty_' – mostly by her. He'd tidied up since her last visit. Anna placed her laptop onto his bed and said: "I don't know how to tell you this, Gio, so I'll just show it. Don't hit me, please! It's not like I have been hiding this from you. I didn't know it existed till this morning…when I accidentally googled you. Just for fun."

"You googled me?" Gio asked in his not-really-caring-that-much way. "Now, why would you do that? I tell you everything. "

"Later," Anna demanded. "Later, hunny. This is the real thing. You want to browse this alone or can I stay? I have logged in – feel free to comment under my name – it's _IcePrincess_. My access code is _Sweden_. Maybe you should just browse a bit and not comment at all … it is a bit overwhelming… I'm still lost for speach…"

"Yeah – not a word coming out of you," he grinned. "Ice Princess? Sweden? What are you talking about?" Gio lay stretched out and had his daily moment of zen. The last meal of the day was served, the kitchen was impeccable. Breakfast was planned and partly prepared.

Anna turned the laptop so he could see.

He thought she was kidding him.

"What _is_ this?" he asked as he sat up and pulled the laptop closer. His eyes narrowed and he scrolled up and down the opening page of _"Gionistas unite!"_ apparently unable to comprehend what he saw and read.

Anna smiled softly. He was totally sweet.

"This is the website dedicated to unlimited, worldwide worshipping of one Gio Rossi who so rudely was cheated out of last season's HK."

"What IS this?" Gio repeated, his cheeks flushing, eyes blinking, lips curling an O that wouldn't close. Fear and disbelief flashed over his face.

"A fan site for you, hunny," Anna giggled. "You are the sexiest man on earth, Giovanni Rossi, should I believe what I read – and so many passionate, more or less sane, women can't all be wrong."

"This is about _me_?" Gio still had problems grasping the concept. He pointed at the screen.

" Your picture, as far as I can see, your name, your legendary time on American reality TV, anecdotes from your humble life in NY – revealed by a woman who says she knows you, fictions made up by even more lunatic women – there's a steamy one by one _JusticiaCee –_we can read it together as I found it sort of inspiring. And this _Licia_ has a beautiful, emotional lengthy thing on a gal who dates one guy while longing for you, it's amazing reading. Really well written. I haven't even mentioned the videos yet – you appear with music. You make moves – those hips, that chest, those arms! You're a true star, baby!"

"Me? A lot of strangers discuss me?"

"You – Gio the sex god, Gio the amazing chef, Gio the heartbroken dearie, Gio who could have been my son/lover/brother/mate – you make a pick!"

"This is legal? No one asked me," he uttered, the red cheeks paling before they turned red and stayed flushed for a while.

"It's basically nice," Anna comforted. "I think it's created as an homage, to celebrate you. They don't mean to insult you. They all love and adore you. So they don't know you, but they love and adore and worship you. They're petitioning for you to have your own TV show."

"A lot of women I don't know – discuss my a**?"

"Butt," she corrected. "You have a nice butt – it survives some discussions, hunny. They've discussed your crotch as well. You actually has a way of sitting broad legged – I hadn't noticed till I saw it commented," Anna said and winked an eye.

Gio's face was a study in shades of red.

"Whoa! They discuss my – crotch? C'mon! Broad legged? I don't sit broad legged. I sit like a man. I am a man!"

"Oh yeah, baby, you're a man." Anna gave him a skull to toe look – slowing the pace at certain areas of his body. A knowingly smile curling her lips. "I know that, and so do the _gionistas_ of the world!"

"_Gionistas?"_ He could barely speak.

"The women who have dedicated their life – well, spare time anyway, to worshipping your humble self, your vast talent and swoon worthy body. Baby, you've become a sex object in the candle lit corridors of the seductive corners of the internet. I think that is hot. That actually turns me on…"

"_Gionistas,"_ he repeated, shaking his head. Anna didn't see his expression as those dark bangs covered his face.

"They do discuss your cooking skills too," Anna smiled. "And they suggest you should get this show – or the restaurant job that girl got…"

"Michelle won?"

"Seems so."

"I guess she deserved it."

"Some of the gals want you for president. But the majority is just enthusiastic – and they have fallen for your charms. Just like I did. They haven't spoken with you – but they like you. Take it as a compliment, hunny. They don't want to embarrass you. They a-dor-e you!"

"This is quite something to digest," Gio admitted.

"I can't begin to imagine. They BTW have a section where they discuss your Betty."

A muscle in one chin trembled. The brown eyes turned black. "They discuss Betty? Where? They have no right!"

"Oh, they don't know who she is." Anna understood he needed calming down. "But it's under 'The girl who broke Gio's heart' – it's a general speculation thread, and they sort of try to imagine who and how she is – and how she could possibly dump you and break your heart. Lots of opinions there. I hope she hasn't read any of it…"

He clenched a fist, and said:"I think I have to read this – on my own. You OK with that?"

Anna nodded and left him.

"_Gionistas!"_ he mumbled, not quite sure he dared step into these dangerous, strange landscapes.


	6. Chapter 6

When hell freezes over ch 6, The girl who broke Gio's heart

"The girl who broke Gio's heart."

Cookie73:_"This is speculating, I know, but I think the girl who broke Gio's heart must be the most stupid woman on earth. Give med Gio, and I would treat him like a gem. She must be daft or something. And I keep thinking how he almost fell for that Michelle, and I suppose the Evil She was someone like her. You know guys seem to go for the same sort of girls. I would guess Gio is like most guys – after all. He's sweet and all that, but guys just don't think clearly when they see a pretty girl like that. And that Michelle isn't so smart, if you ask me…" _

Gioslover: _"I HOPE SHE REGRETS AND IS HEARTBROKEN TOO! I hope she stays heartbroken forever!"_

mrsrossi: _"Cookie73 has a point. A lot of men (and women too) tend to go for the same type of women (men). It's like they're dating the same person over and over again, and they are not able to see the pattern. I needn't say the relationships hardly ever last long. I have seen that multiple times among my own friends, and well – I have done the same mistake a few times in the past, but I am glad to say I am very happy now. My Freddie is totally different to all my former boyfriends. To be honest, I don't think I would swap him for Gio – should that ever be a question *giggles*. What I meant saying: It might very well be Gio is a typical guy and that the woman who broke his heart was someone like Michelle. That would explain why he actually opened up a bit for than with the other girls anyway. He confided in her, remember? He sort of kept all other girls at distance, but she got under his skin. Of course she really worked to get there, but it was like very easy – he had doors wide open there. Makes sense if his ex was a blond little thing like Michelle. And OK, I must say that if Michelle is the standard for which girls he likes, I lose a little of my respect for him. But I just don't believe he is as silly as that. He never seemed to be so silly. And – he rejected Michelle. Let's not forget that! He showed a lot of decency – it could have been so easy for him to play along. It could have been the sweetest revenge: Imagine what his ex must have felt had he made out with Michelle on TV! Of course they would have shown that. But he didn't, and I like to think he didn't because he didn't want to hurt her the same way she hurt him…Yeah – Gio is a decent guy!"_

SandwichGirl: "_Gio is a super guy, don't you dare say anything else, or I'll come after you with a baseball bat!"_

Gioslover: _"You know this ex of his, SandwichGirl?"_

SandwichGirl: _"I didn't know he was in a relationship at all. But I haven't seen him much after we went out that once. Mostly heard about him from people we both know. They never said he dated anyone. I know for certain he spent a month in Italy on his own just before he suddenly sold the deli and next he was on TV." _

GrannyBeth: _"Could be an Italian girl he had to leave and that's why he was heartbroken. I hear these European women can be quite something. And an Italian girl of course has her whole life there and can't just leave everything and move to America for a crush. That's a risk to take. I know you young girls here are used to travel all the time and to travel everywhere. The world is small to you, but not everybody will leave their family and friends and job and even country for a man's sake. You never know if it'll last. A holiday fling can be sweet, but it isn't said that it will last when you're back to your everyday life. I don't think we should throw stones – we don't know what happened_."

Gioslover: _"I don't need to know what happen. I just know she is a bitch and I hate her!"_

GirlNextdoor_:"I'm sure that girl never intended to break his heart. Maybe she didn't love him or wasn't ready to love him or anyone. After all, you can't force someone to love you. She's probably just a girl who liked him, but didn't love him. It takes two to make a relationship. No one can blame her if she just wasn't interested. "_

Giofanette: "_OMG, you are so naïve, Girlnextdoor!!!! Are you always this willing to believe the best in people? Even if they walk all over your heart and end up jumping on it??? You must be the kind of person who always annoys me – who just wants everything to be sweet and nice and good. Well, life isn't like that! Never has been. I'm sure she was a cow, whether she lives in Italy or in NY. A true cow and an evil bitch and I want to stab her!" _

"This isn't just a fan page," Gio stuttered, a tad confused, still shocked, but also somewhat impressed and - proud. He had spent two hours reading. He had dared check some other pages, but somehow been drawn back to the _gionistas._

"There is a fan page too," he said, shaking his head. "By this girl, Noelle who was Lauren – and she has this most amazing collection of me I have ever seen. And I ask myself – Gio, are you worthy of a totally sweet girl spending most of her spare time making this page? Are you worth all her effort and care and interest? And, Anna, I'm not. I'm just a guy. A normal guy."

"You're not just _any_ guy, hunny… Any other thoughts?" Anna wondered.

"This isn't just about me. You fooled me, Anna, and you know it, this isn't just about some idiot TV show. This isn't just about me."

She'd known that. He was just as bright as she had suspected.

"And I don't know if this Gio they talk about is me. I know, it is me – but I'm nothing like that. I'm Gio, but they have created another Gio and he looks just like me. Well he looks like me when I look my best. It's no in between. And this Gio is so perfect it's dangerous. You know what I'm saying?"

Anna nodded.

"This is women brought together by me – by coincidence, and yeah, they do talk a lot about my a** and dimple and whatever, but they also talk about life, their daily lives, problems – and you know, Anna, their problems are the same whether they live in the States or in Europe or Korea or Australia or Argentina for that matter. The emotions are the same. People are people. And they back each other up, they advice and discuss and strengthen each other, build up each others' self esteem – it's actually quite strong. Girls encouraging other girls. It's touching, Anna. And I don't really understand it. I have never – idolized anyone. Don't think I have. I've had pretty women in swimsuits pinned to my wall, but I never knew their names and I didn't spend time imagining how they were… "

"It's a female thing – I think."

"Mostly – I can live with it. It's OK, I guess. I can't ask them to stop, can I? That would be harsh. And they don't hurt me. I hope my Mom doesn't see it, that would be embarrassing – but why should she? She isn't into computers and she doesn't understand the internet."

"It's OK I told you about it?"

"It's OK. I'm cool with it – but I won't spend time here. I don't think I want to know what more they discuss about me – or their Gio-idol or whoever." He pulled his breath. "Only thing I don't like is how they slander Betty. That's like my private life, and I don't want strangers entering these rooms. I was on TV because I wanted to be on TV, and this is a result of that. I sort of asked for it. She didn't. It was stupid of me to spill my guts on TV – I'm really to blame for her being attacked now…"

"So what are you going to do about it?" Anna asked, not offering solutions if he didn't ask for them.

"I think I need to write something, but I can't do that as me. I can't sign in as Gio and tell them 'hey girls, you're talking about me!'"

"You can't?"

"That would be weird."

"You could write under my name," Anna suggested.

"But how could _IcePrincess _know so much about me? Next they'd believe you are the girl who broke my heart, and they'll be going for your throat."

He was sweet the way he wanted to protect both her and Betty, Anna thought. She didn't need his protection, but maybe Betty did.

"You decide, Gio. It depends on how important it is for you to set things straight. Maybe she doesn't read this. Maybe she doesn't know. Maybe she rises above it all and isn't offended…"

"She's hurt – if she reads it. I think she reads it. Hilda does. Hilda writes here. Hilda – her sister. She brags she knows me. Just typical Hilda. She's totally sweet. Polishing the truth a little, but that's Hilda for you…"

Anna understood Gio cared about this Hilda as well. She would remember the name. Maybe she could find Betty Suarez through her sister Hilda.

"You can go in and go out…"

He didn't like it, but he did it – and he logged out and was offline within seconds, afraid of the possible reactions.

"You're a true knight," Anna teased. "A gentleman if I ever knew one."

"I'll never go there again," he promised her. "Never. And you stay out of there too, Ice Princess!"

"Not making promises…"

"_GIO IS HERE!"_ _Gioslover_ was the first to notice – she was always logged in. Total silence fell over the forum. Everybody read the same post.

Gio: _"Girls, ladies, gionistas! I'm paled and honored by your interest and care. Partly scared to death, to be honest. You boost my ego sky high, but expect too much of me: I'm just a guy. Well, discuss all you like. I'm OK with that. I'm humbled, to tell the truth. But please lay off my ex! She didn't break my heart singlehandedly. I was there too. I went in too strong. We didn't communicate well. Too much unsaid, and breaking up with me made her life better. I want her to be happy. She isn't a bad person, just confused. And she didn't love me. It's like one of you – girl next door? said: You can't force anyone to love you. I'm OK with her decision, and I'm fine and alive and cooking. Kisses and peace." _

Confusion continued to reign the _"Gionistas unite!"-_forum the rest of the day and most of the night. The ladies discussed whether this was Gio Rossi or not. They compared his way of talking to the wording of the post. They were over the moon by the mere fact that he maybe knew about them. He had seen them! And he was well – though he didn't state where. He was fine and cooking – he obviously had a job.

_SandwichGirl _was convinced it was the real Giovanni Rossi. It sounded just like Gio, she swore. She was teased by the other girls – she couldn't be such a close friend of his after all since she hadn't known about this relationship, as Gio (IF this really was the real Gio) said his heart had been broken – and he called the heartbreaker his ex. He wouldn't have said that hadn't there been a relationship, now would he? And SandwichGirl said they weren't that close, but she had danced with him a full eve, and this Gio sounded just like the real Gio, there was no doubt in her soul.

Gio had been in their midst.

And the next 29 posts analyzed his post down to the vaguest comma, and the gionistas concluded he still had to love that bitch. Not that anyone dared call her a bitch – she was his ex. Plain and simple, and they didn't really discuss her – they discussed how a sweet guy Gio was who could be so sweet and generous about it all. And they discussed the astonishing fact that there was a woman who did know Gio, and who didn't want him.

They'd totally forgotten that _Dolores Dickinson_ had her account on _youTube_ cancelled because she (like 99% of the people who posted on _yT_) used copyrighted material in her fan videos. The TV company that owned the rights went übersour and demanded her works of art removed or else. She didn't bulge – _gionistas_ didn't! And out went the account. Well – she registered a new one the next minute – no stress. But there was a principle violated, somehow. The _gionistas_ had forgotten that _Cee_ in sympathy with _D_ and overwhelmed by spontaneous anger went on about how _youTube_ accepted angry young men who planned to shoot fellow students, to advertise their coming deeds for days and weeks – even months sometimes, before anyone reacted and cancelled their accounts, while innocent nice well composed pieces of art – that didn't harm anyone let alone trig other gun happy maniacs to plan their own disasters. But of course – the angry young men held the copyright to their video work worshipping sudden death of innocent strangers. No money involved – just the possibility of lives destroyed.

The _gionistas_ had the day of their life.

Gio had been among them. He had sent kisses and peace.

They celebrated.

_mrsrossi:_ "_I hate to ruin the celebration, girls, but it's in the news that a stalker has just stabbed that Michelle to death. In the restaurant." _


	7. Chapter 7

When hell freezes over, ch 7, Small World

News article copied and submitted at the _"Gionistas unite!"_ web page:

"_TV-CHEF KILLED BY STALKER! Last season's Hell's Kitchen winner, now Chef at Hell's Kitchen, San Francisco, 27 year old Michelle De Silvio, was today at 11.30 am, local time, attacked by a 29 year old man and subsequently stabbed to death with one of her own kitchen knives. Her sous chef, Zacharias Bukowsky, who witnessed the attack says there was nothing anyone could do to save De Silvio's life._

'_It all happened so quickly. He stormed in through the back door from the alley behind the restaurant, and he screamed at Michelle like a madman while shoving her against the fridge. Next he grabbed one of the knives and he went mental… I just can't talk about it. She died before my eyes. I have lost my best friend, and this could have been avoided…'_

_Zac Bukowsky, came # 2 in the HK finale last year, and states he has been a friend of Michelle's since they met. She made him his second in command at the kitchen just after taking over, and it is known the two cooks shared an apartment in SF, but both have stated they were flat mates only, not lovers. _

_The stabber has by Bukowsky and other members of HK staff been identified as a stalker, a William Wilson, who has followed Michelle since mid season HK. According to Bukowsky had Michelle De Silvio been very worried and scared by the irrational behavior of this fan, and she had talked about getting a restraining order, but local police had ridiculed her worry, preventing her from going further. _

'_He sent her emails and text messages and letters, demanding her to employ him,' Zac Bukowsky reveals. 'He behaved as he knew her, and would occasionally blame her for having betrayed him with another man while shooting the HK show. That was utter nonsense. Michelle didn't have the slightest idea who he was. He just spooked her out of her mind.'_

_Gordon Ramsay says he's shocked by De Silvio's death. 'We naturally think of Michelle's family and friends and send them our condolences. For the time being the sous chef of HK, SF, Zac Bukowsky will step in and run the kitchen. It'll take some time to find a more permanent solution.'" _

SandwichGirl: _"OMG we know that stabbing stalker! We know him! Remember that Billie80 on the show's forum? William – Billie! 29. Billie80 could mean he's born 1980 – it's 2009 now, he'd be 29. Can anyone check if they have removed his posts from the forum?"_

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"I like summer, but I loathe all that comes paddling south once it heats up a little…" Anna stretched her body and made every inch of it follow Gio's. Body heat was underestimated; she so loved a warm body. His warm body anyway. At the time she didn't want to trade it for any other.

"Temperatures reaching the _zer-oh_ F, isn't what I call heating up, baby," Gio grinned. "But you're the polar veteran. I believe every word you say. They say you're the pro and you handle the press like you never did anything else. I'm proud of you, sweetie. It's just a three day expedition. You'll be back in these loving arms in a tick." He pulled her closer, demonstrating what those loving arms could do.

"I know. And I know it's important to make our science known among people – and politicians. We need every budget dollar they can cough up…"

"And let's face it: you're the hottest scientist here. You draw more attention to the science programs than say Hugh would do. And I don't say Hugh is an ugly man…"

They laughed and kissed. Biologist Hugh McKenzie had Scottish ancestors, red hair and eyebrows like whiskers. He was 50 and didn't look a day below 65. His temper was infamous among polar scientists worldwide, but he had a heart of gold. You had, however, to know him on a deeper level to be aware of that. He loathed most outside the science world, his pet hates were doubtlessly journalists, whom he called the gutter of the pseudo intelligent world. He was never allowed near the journalists who every summer visited the South Pole. Anna was his opposite. She saw the importance of talking to the media. She didn't mind talking to people who knew less than her. And she understood that her looks cut some corners.

"I hope there are no total jerks there," she sighed. "There always are some dafties who only come for the human angle thing and write stories about 'the glaciologist with the ice blue eyes'. We do some actual work. It's not a show put up for their benefit. We are no clowns."

"I'm sure they are just as capable at their work as you are at yours," he said, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. "And you have beautiful ice blue eyes."

"Thank you for noticing," Anna mumbled.

" You need some sleep." Gio kissed her temple. "This is for sweet dreams…" He kissed her nose, "And this is for sweet dreams about me…"

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Gio saw her off the next morning. There was no need to tell her to take care. She did.

And he missed her, but he didn't tear off his hair in agony. There was plenty to do. The plane had brought a dozen journalists who all followed Anna and her fellow scientists out on the ice, a day's travel from the station, to where they'd drill and take pictures and Anna would tell them all about what they did and why, and eventually they'd be back, and he'd have to cook for another 12 people. They already had five new scientists who'd be based at the station over summer. And they were expecting a Norwegian expedition that would reach them any day. Seemed like it was a must for macho Norwegian men to ski across the South Pole – with or without what was regarded as the essentials in such hostile environments, an expedition seemed to be a must for some macho Norwegian women as well.

He enjoyed chatting with the new people. No matter how well he liked the people he saw every day, it was nice to get some new faces to look at, and he realized it was grand hearing some new stories as well.

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Hugh was grumpy as ever on return. "Silly media stunts!" he grunted. It wasn't all out of proportion. The main driller had hurt his hand badly, and they all agreed he'd need a doctor ASAP. Even Anna was a bit pale: "He almost lost his hand. The painkillers aren't working, and the weather isn't good enough for a plane to land…And we really don't need this – to be a man down in our busiest time… "

Gio knew driller Steve well. He had 3 kids home in Oregon, and he loved to cheat in poker. He was the best at his work, the very best in the world. He had brought up 1000 year old ice cones that would tell people a lot about weather and climate, maybe even help people today save the earth.

"I'll live!" Steve proclaimed, pale and obviously in pain, but still braver than Batman. "Just give me a mouthful of your tiramisu, Gio!"

Of course Gio made what was as close to a real tiramisu as he could get – and he personally fed Steve, who screamed in pain and ate and insisted he enjoyed every bite. They only let the toughest of the tough end up in Antarctica.

An annoying photojournalist circled them. Gio wasn't thrilled, but Steve didn't mind – and it was his story. Gio figured Steve could have any glory possible. He had a dangerous job. People back home couldn't imagine what he was up to every day.

"You look somehow familiar," the photographer said, glancing at Gio. "Have we met? I'm Beckett Scott, Becks among friends…" He shook Gio's hand.

"Giovanni Rossi. Gio. Don't think we've met," Gio said. He didn't tell people he'd been on TV. If they didn't remember, they didn't need to know. "I look like a lot of guys," he assured.

"Careful with that smooth talking camera guy!" Hugh warned Gio. "He's been after your woman all these days out in the ice. Luckily _she_ knows how to behave!"

"You and Anna are – an item?" Becks asked. Blue eyes looking straight at Gio.

"Naaah," Gio said.

"Yes," Hugh said.

"Yup," Steve managed to utter. "Chef Gio here was a TV star. He survived Gordon Ramsay!"

"You were on _Hell's Kitchen_?" the photographer asked.

"Not long," Gio minimized his time onscreen.

"Our luck," Hugh complimented Gio. "He's a decent guy. And he's Anna's guy, so don't you mess with him, mister. He decides what ends up on your plate!"

"But that's an amazing story!" Becks told Gio and Anna only hours later. They were still waiting for a doctor to be flown in. "It's a fairytale story; the TV cook and the beautiful glaciologist – who meet each other on the South Pole!"

"It's no story," Gio said, but he didn't really explain his and Anna's relationship. "You can't write about us, Becks. My mother would start waiting for grandchildren, and we're not there!"

Becks didn't stop taking photos. He knew a good story when he stumbled over one. The Ice Princess glaciologist was one. The Antarctica love story was another. He'd sell the science part to some science magazines. The pictures of Antarctica – the whites, the blues and the penguins he'd seen by the coast, would sell to other mags. But the TV chef who ended on the South Pole and found love – in a model shaped scientist - now that was magic. He could sell that to numerous magazines and papers. America would love that story. And Anna was Swedish born – Europe would love it as well!

A good love story close to Christmas! He had found the goose with the golden eggs! He could do that detour to Paris before going home. Meet up with Daniel. They hadn't met in ages. Daniel had been a father and had been stripped for the same fatherhood since they had a pow wow. He had stories that would cash in. He could laze for weeks.

"So, what's your story, Gio, my man?" he asked. "Where are you from? What brought you to the South Pole?"

"Queens, NY," Gio said – not aware of that he was about to spill his heart all out.

Steve had to end his stay at the Amundsen-Scott Pole Station. His hand was so badly injured he had to be taken to Australia to patch him up again. Becks and most of the journalists jumped on the same plane. Necks promised to send the articles and interviews he'd do to them on email, so they could correct them before they were printed. He knew he wouldn't do that, but people liked to think they had some sort of control over the stories of their own lives.

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"Oh, Betty, you lucky girl!" Hilda screamed. " You are going to Paris! You'll spend Christmas in Paris! Oh, you must take pictures!"

"Christmas is family time," Ignacio grunted in discontent. "We have always celebrated Christmas as a family. That's how your mother wanted it to be. She gathered the family during holidays. I have tried to raise you the way she would have done, had she lived…"

"It's the first time ever Betty isn't home for Christmas, _pap_i! Betty is an adult now. Learn to live with it!" Hilda was over the moon on behalf of her sister." It's super sweet of Daniel to invite you. That man is a diamond. I swear, I'd marry him tomoorow, did he ask me. I don't care if we don't love each other. I could learn to love a man like Daniel Meade. He knows how much DJ means to Betty. It's so thoughtful of him to have Betty go to Paris with him to celebrate Christmas with DJ and his French family!"

"It'll be no marrying Daniel Meade for any of you!" Ignacio pointed a finger at both of his daughters.

Betty, hands on hips, stated: "Daniel and I are friends. It's not like any of us even dream of marrying anyone or even starting a relationship just now. We are career people. You wouldn't understand!"

"So, I wouldn't understand? I'm your father, Betty. I understand everything."

"It's only because Claire broke her ankle and can't go and Daniel thought it would be nice for me to see DJ and Paris and everything, and he hates travelling alone," Betty explained for the umpteenth time. Her father wasn't happy about her going to Europe with a man. And he wasn't happy with her being away for Christmas. She could understand him, and she felt guilty, but she really wanted to go, and she figured she deserved it. She had a rough year and a half behind her. "It isn't like we're travelling as a couple, _papi_. I'll have my own room!"

"But DJ's family will assume you're Daniel's – significant other…" Ignacio somehow didn't like the thought of Betty together with Daniel. He liked Daniel – young Meade was a confused young man born with too many silver spoons in his mouth, but he was nice enough. Yet – he wasn't nice enough for his daughter. Betty needed a – special man. Ignacio would recognize him when he saw him – he wasn't sure Betty would.

"I don't care what they think," Betty said and lifted her chin stubbornly. "I'll spend Christmas in Europe, and I'll let nothing spoil that!"


	8. Chapter 8&9

When hell freezes over, chapters 8 -9

**Chapter 8, _Paris – City of Romance_**

Paris was everything Betty had imagined – and then some. She feared her eyes would fall out on the way from Charles de Gaulle to George V, as there were new sights and views to digest all the time. From the gloomy outskirts of town with bearly liveable areas to the sights upon sights once they reached the central areas – what most folks would think of as Paris. Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame, the Obelisk, the Triumphal Arch, the Champs Elysées, the Eiffel Tower… She'd had no idea that the Eiffel Tower was so huge, and she immediately fell in love with this symbol of Paris. It could be a cliché altogether, but she loved it.

"It's better when it gets dark and is all lit up," Daniel told her, but Betty couldn't believe him. After dark, however, she could see with her own eyes that he was right, and he was amused by her giggling enthusiasm and joy.

"Had I known a little trip to Paris would cheer you up like this, I would have brought you earlier," he commented dryly.

Between those moments of idyll were some of loud voiced drama when Betty found out they were to share the same suite. She calmed down when she realized the suite was the size of about her flat times eight, had three bedrooms and three bathrooms, and after Daniel promised her he would not entertain women there.

"I don't want to stumble over half naked women at the breakfast table – or wherever," she said. "That's totally unacceptable."

"I hear you, Super Nanny! Which corner is the naughty boy corner?"

"And if DJ will stay here with us a couple of nights, that would be totally unfair to him as well. You're here to see DJ, not to chase women!"

"I hear you, Betty, calm down!" Daniel was defensive. " I'm not here to chase women. I wouldn't do that to DJ. Or you." He winked an eye naughtily at her, "That goes both ways, Mademoiselle Suarez. I hope I won't stumble over French guys at the breakfast table."

She threw a pillow after him, but was glad she had raised the issue. It was all about being prepared. She liked that the ground rules had been gone through and accepted by both parties. Hotel Gorge V was better than she'd believed – and she had watched _"French Kiss"_ numerous times. The concierge was much more polite than the one in the movie, which again proved to her that art didn't necessarily mimic life.

DJ couldn't meet them the first day, but Daniel told her they'd meet up with a mate of his, who knew Paris like his pocket, and he'd be Betty's guide and show her all the secrets of this massive and beautiful city.

"Not just the tourist traps," Daniel smiled.

"But I thought you'd show me Paris!"

"I've been here," he said, "but it doesn't mean I've seen more of it than you. Nightclubs and restaurants and hotel rooms, yes, but I haven't been close to Louvre or the Eiffel tower – sans driving past…"

"You amaze me." Betty had always imagined he actually saw the places he went to. "And it's the same with all the places you travel?"

He did that shoulder shrug she hated. It was like Justin in his worst teenage era.

"What a totally waste of time! So who's this French guy anyway?"

"Erhm… he's no French guy…"

Sightseeing Paris with Becks turned out to be a better experience than Betty feared it could become. Daniel's idiot mate was less shallow than she'd rated him. He had a job that demanded some intelligence and the ability to socialize and he had to be interested in what he saw and in the people he met. Apparently he had lived in Paris, and it turned out he knew the town better than their limo driver, so they dropped the limo, rented a tiny dented Peugeot and Becks drove them all over. Betty even enjoyed sitting in the front seat, and Becks wasn't afraid of collecting parking tickets. He left the car wherever he found it possible to park, and a sight was within walking distance.

"Done a 3 day job that paid off big bucks," he laughed. "Between us, Daniel and I can afford these parking tickets."

Betty saw Mona Lisa, and she could have stood in front of that painting for hours, hadn't the crowd been sure to trample her down did she stay put longer than the five minutes she allowed herself in total awe. They saw the Eiffel Tower from a distance – and they took the lift to the top. Betty was sure she'd pass out when they had to wait for the lift after the first level, and it got jammed and hot, but Becks told silly stories and made her think of something else, and the view from the top was worth all the dizziness and pale moments of fear. He was nicer than she'd given him credit for. They strolled along the Champs Elysées and saw the Triumphal Arc and the huge Obelisk from Egypt. They saw Notre Dame, and Betty caught herself looking for the Ringer… When her feet started to ache, Becks knew of a little brasserie on Ile de la Cité, and he knew what to order and did so in what sounded like perfect French. It was a lovely lunch. The food was nice, no tourist dishes, but what real French people would have ordered, Becks stated, and she found herself laughing and talking and enjoying her day out with the two men. Never once during the day did she think they were from different leagues.

Daniel invited him over to their suite for dinner, and Betty didn't complain. It would be nice, she thought. Becks was anything but boring company. And they'd stay in the suite. She needn't bother about what to wear and what people would think. Maybe she could have Becks tell her more about French Christmas traditions, to prepare her a little for what she could expect when celebrating together with DJ's grandparents. Deep down she worried a bit, as she was no woman of the world, and she didn't want to embarrass neither Daniel nor DJ, and she didn't want to make a fool of herself, and French people were so elegant, the women so petite and chic – and it was important to her that DJ's grandparents liked her. Of course she also worried that they would think she was Daniel's – _significant other_, as her father had put it. It hadn't occurred to her before _papi_ had mentioned it, and by then it was too late to tell Daniel she didn't want to go to Europe after all. Daniel could of course mention this to them before he introduced her, but she dreaded asking him to do so. It had been so much easier had it occurred to Daniel he should do it. Alas she was the person who usually told Daniel what was appropriate to do, in the various situations, and she found it hard this time. It was about her, and she didn't want to be a nuisance.

Becks came as he was. He brought his luggage too.

"Off to NY tomorrow," he said with a grin while loading off his bags. "Reckon we'll have drinks. Thought I could bunk here."

"It's not like I'm entertaining women, Betty," Daniel smiled wryly. "What do you say?"

"Of course he stays." Betty was in a generous mood.

"What's this?" Becks was confused.

"Private joke," Daniel explained.

Becks asked, "Is this something I should understand? You two – Christmas in Paris, city of romance – anything you want to tell me?"

"Not at all!" Betty immediately stated. "I feared this would happen when we share suite, Daniel," she said, cheeks blushing. "My father can never know we have shared suite. I'm not sure you should tell DJ's grandparents this neither."

"You're not an item?"

"We're friends," Daniel assured, feeling less embarrassed than Betty.

"Hard to tell sometimes," Becks laughed. "I met this amazing woman at this 3 day job I had, and I tried to show her the best of me, but she wasn't impressed. Turned out she was spoken for. But how could I know?"

"So where was this 3 day job?" Betty asked.

"Antarctica," Becks said, positioned lazily in one of the good chairs, stretching his legs as at home. "Any chance of a double cognac?"

Daniel fixed the cognac. "Antarctica, huh? And you met a woman there?"

"A gorgeous woman, no less," Becks confirmed. "But she wasn't impressed. She had bunked up with a cook from Queens."

Betty's heart skipped a beat or two. She froze, but managed to keep the smile. There had to be many hundred cooks from Queens. She was silly. What would Gio do in Antarctica?

"Small world, huh?" Daniel commented. "Betty is from Queens."

"Maybe you know him." Becks looked straight at her. "He was a character. Short, Italian guy. Gio. Gio Rossi!"

"Gio we know!" Daniel was surprised.

"Can't be him," Betty said, not willing to grasp this information. "There must be more than one Gio Rossi…"

"He had a deli next to us. He – was a friend of Betty's," Daniel revealed.

"I have pictures." Becks got up and fetched a laptop from his worn leather shoulder bag. Betty wanted to run as he unfolded it and found the right files. "He said he had been on TV…"

"That's him!" Daniel needed no other proof.

"Typical Gio, bragging about that TV show," Betty mumbled.

"Oh, he didn't volunteer that," Becks laughed. "Everybody else told me, he didn't want to talk about it. I googled him before I wrote the part on him and Anna." He found their photos under _'anna&gio'_. The first of the lot filled the screen: Gio wrapping his arms around a blue eyed beauty. Betty had to swallow hard.

"Go Gio!" Daniel whisteled. "She really is a looker."

"She is," Becks grinned. "She's a glaciologist. They speak very highly of her. Swedish born. Her family moved to the States when she was 19. For her sake, I understand. She has straight A's – got her degree in shorter time than usual. She made me understand what she was talking about – she was their public liaison, so to speak. Very good with people. And when she switched off work mode she was just this very nice girl. Everybody liked her and looked after her. Gio said they gave him a hard time till they understood he wasn't up to breaking her heart…" He looked at Betty. "This is the guy you know?"

"Uhum," Betty nodded and forced herself to look at the rest of the pictures: Gio cooking. Gio cooking and Anna looking into his casseroles. Gio allowing Anna to taste what he's cooking. Anna looking at her screen. Gio all cosy in a couch with Anna curled up in his arms – it looked like they were watching a video or something. Anna and Gio all tucked up in the snow and sunshine outdoors; Anna embracing Gio from behind.

"She's taller than him," she said. It was dumbass, but it just fell out of her mouth.

"Not more than three inches, I suppose," Becks assumed. "Didn't seem to bother any of them. And my, could he cook!"

"Uhum," Betty said. "Uhum."

"And they actually met at the South Pole," Becks continued. "How's that for a love story?"

"They plan to stay there?" Daniel asked. "I somehow can't picture Gio on the South Pole – for long."

"He said he had a one year contract – came there in February. But they obviously wanted him to stay. Guess it depends on if and how long she stays. And on how keen he is on fame…"

"Gio? Fame?" Betty heard her voice resembled a quacking duck. She shut her mouth.

"After I sold the story – it'll be out next week, various places – anyway, after I sold the story, oh, so many are interested in the chef who lost the HK, but won the ice princess. Nigella wants to cook with him. Oprah wants them both on her show. Letterman does. Kimmel. Martha Stewart. Jamie Oliver wants him in a series of TV-shows. And the list goes on." Becks downed his cognac as he rolled more photos from his cold southern experience over the screen. "The way I see it, the guy can make a career out of this, does he play his cards wisely. And it couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke. I've acted as his agent for these couple of days, passing on all emails to Anna. She'll look after him. I don't see who would be able to fool Anna. That is some woman! I'll toast to that if I get more grog."

He got more grog. Betty needed one too.

It was an everlasting dinner, and no one but Gio was to blame. She couldn't get her thoughts off the photos. That smiling blonde woman was everything she wasn't, and she just couldn't believe how he could look at that ice cold Anna the same way he had looked at her. He had said he loved her. He had said he wanted to be the one. The Guy. He had said he had emotions for her. He had said he wanted to be with her. He had said she had broken his heart. He had seemed to be tormented and in pain, and it was her fault. While on TV he had talked about that broken heart, and she knew he still felt the pain she had caused. And though she didn't want him to be hurt, that was somewhat reassuring still. He loved her so much that his heart was broken because she didn't love him back. He had actually entered the _'Gionistas unite!_'-forum to defend her. That wasn't long ago. That had to be after he had met _her_, the pretty blonde, the intelligent scientist with a heavy education, the ice princess, Anna.

And Gio smiled at Anna and held her in his arms and didn't seem to have a single worry in his head. He looked happy and in love. He looked in love. Totally smitten and in love. And that woman looked at him the same way.

Betty couldn't ask Becks to show her the photos once more. In a couple of days she'd see them anywhere, she supposed. As if she really wanted to. He had moved on. He didn't love her anymore. His broken heart had healed, and there was no trace of her left there. He had erased her from his memory. No wonder he hadn't sent her a postcard. He was on Antarctica, and how many postcards did you find there? He was on Antarctica – how weird was that? – and he was in love with beautiful Anna. He was just like all the other guys. After all the sweet talk – in the end he actually preferred the beautiful girls. And this one seemed to be beautiful on the inside too. How unfair wasn't that?

Betty excused herself after dinner. She wasn't one of the boys. Daniel and Becks would speak more freely if they were alone. She said she was tired. She was tired. But she asked Daniel if she could call Hilda and charge the room. "I'll keep it short!"

"Talk for as long as you like!"

Betty was glad he was that generous. She needed Hilda now. She needed Hilda's voice in her ear. She needed to talk about Gio to Hilda, the one person who could maybe understand.

"Gio is at the South Pole! You. Are. Soooo. Kidding. Me!" Hilda screamed so loudly, Betty could easily have believed she was in the next room.

"I have seen photos." Betty spent the next five minutes describing what she remembered of the photos and of what Becks had told her.

"Oh – my – God! He _is _at the South Pole! _Gio is at the South Pole_. I was talking to _Papi._ And he has a girlfriend. She is what?"

"A glaciologist," Betty repeated. "Scientist. Lots of years of studies at uni. Top A student. She works with ice."

"And she loves our Gio!" Hilda sighed. "Well, who would have thought he would go that far! I cheered a bit for him and that poor Michelle, you know, that killed bitch. Rest her soul. I read it really was this guy from the board – the HK message board, you know, who stabbed her. He hated Gio and was sure it was Gio who took his place on the show, and then Michelle liked Gio, and he sure didn't like Gio, and even less when Gio didn't want her – and in his twisted mind he somewhere along the line started to hate her as well. That makes sense to you? There are some freaked out souls out there, I tell you. And how good for this Anna chick that he didn't know about her and Gio. He could have gone after her as well. Mind you, I don't think they let nut cases go to the South Pole. OK, I'm rattling. She is pretty, huh?"

"Ummm. I guess so."

"You saw the photos, you tell me!"

Betty told her. "Katie Holmes. But not all Katie Holmes. A touch of Kate Hudson. More Kate Hudson, actually. And she is as blonde as it gets. Silver. A cold blonde, you know. And those ice blue eyes. They in fact look – quite amazing together. Only he's like 3 inches shorter than her. She so can't wear high heels when she's out with him."

"Can't see that be a problem on the South Pole," Hilda laughed loudly. "Gio in love. Aren't you glad?"

"Umm," Betty said.

"Now you don't have to feel guilty because he's miserable and you don't love him. He has moved on. And you're in the most romantic city ever. Seen any hottie French guys yet? I bet that photographer is hot. He _is_ hot, huh?"

"We have been sightseeing, Hilda. I have seen Mona Lisa."

"Yeah. And girl, you have seen Gio and his girlfriend, how hot isn't that?"

Betty didn't really feel better after she said bye to Hilda. She fell asleep on a wet pillow in the most romantic city on earth.

**Chapter 9, Hell's Kitchen Chef Meets Ice Princess in Antarctica**

Hilda sat on a scoop, and she felt no restrictions using what she knew. Betty didn't know about the forum. She wouldn't know Hilda had spilled the beans. And what she didn't know, wouldn't hurt her. And if Gio read it – well, he had to know she was on the board. She had told a lot about herself, maybe too much, and he had given interviews. It was a matter of time before it was all over the newspapers.

But she could tell it first. She reported under _"Gio sightings_."

SandwichGirl: _"I happen to know Gio works as a cook in Antarctica. And he has a scientist girlfriend who looks like a model."_

Cookie73: _"Good one, SandwichGirl! Why not the North Pole? He could be Santa's little helper these days. I swear I'd be a lot happier if Gio came down the chimney and filled my socks. He could even rest his shoes under my bed while at it! Good one – I'm still giggling!"_

mrsrossi: _"I see your need to tell us sensations, SandwichGirl, after all you're the one of us here who has been closest to Gio. You have been on a date with him. And I know we have teased you because you don't really know more about him than we do. But you know, we love you still, and you don't have to fabricate news. Antarctica – yeah, right_!"

GrannyBeth: "_I am thrilled to hear that our Gio is well and that he has a girlfriend too. We all want him to be happy. I hadn't imagined a scientist would be his first choice, but that maybe shows how I think within old frames while I like to say I am broadminded. How do you know this, SandwichGirl? And what is he doing on the South Pole?" _

SandwichGirl: _"I am glad you take me seriously, GrannyBeth. I thought more people here knew me, and it hurts that some believes I'm fabricating news. My sister is in Paris with her boss, and he has this mate who is a journalist who has just been to Antarctica. They met up with him tonight – it's night over there in Europe. And this guy tells he's met like a cook from Queens on the South Pole, and my sister says she is from Queens, maybe she knows this guy, and this journalist lets her see the photos, and it's Gio! My sister knows him, and she has seen those photos of Gio, and she says it's him and she has seen pics of his blonde scientist girlfriend, she works with ice something, who's pretty in a Kate Hudson/Katie Holmes way, and my sister says Gio looks so in love. It was like 'Hell's Kitchen cook meets ice princess in Antarctica and falls in love.' It'll be in magazines soon. I so am looking forward to see you guys who think I am a liar, eat your words then! You're welcome!" _

Cookie73: _"No offence, but it still sounds like a fib to me."_

Giofanette: _"Gio has another woman? HEY – I am single and I am longing and I live at a way warmer place than the South Pole! I am shocked! But it explains why we haven't heard anything about him…"_

mrsrossi: _"I'd like to read this somewhere else too, SandwichGirl, don't take this the wrong way. Your sister is in Paris? Wow, lucky girl! Anything going on between her and that boss? He must be pretty cool taking her there." _

SandwichGirl: _"My sister's boss is cool – and hot. I don't know what is going on. She is tight lipped. But she is spending Christmas and NYE's with him there. It would take less to make me fall in love, I tell you. But I'm so not her."_

JusticiaCee: _"I believe you, SandwichGirl. Who in her right mind would make up a woman who is a mix of Katie Holmes and Kate Hudson? Eagerly waiting for the photos!"_

"One of your women knows Becks," Anna toyed around the internet while Gio cheated at patience.

"Impossible," he grunted and shuffled the deck once more.

"It's all over here – you and me. The _gionistas_ know."

"Hush!" He leaned over her shoulder to see. "We have an announcement board if you want to tell everybody. I didn't think you were hanging out with my women, anyway. You said you wouldn't."

"I lied."

"400 posts. Me – here. And you. Not bad." Gio kept his voice low. "Wouldn't have taken Becks for a _gionista_, huh?"

"It's not him. I think it's – Betty."

"Betty's on the board?"

"Her sister," Anna said and scrolled back to the first post. "You said you believed _SandwichGirl _is Betty's sister. If so – Betty knows Becks."

Gio read how Hilda was blowing the whistle. It was Hilda, alright. And Betty was in Paris with Daniel. Betty was celebrating Christmas with Daniel. Funny – he had never seen that train coming. He had never imagined them together like that. Daniel was like Betty's older brother. It felt a bit creepy – but he was just silly and a tad surprised. Come to think if it, Daniel wasn't that much older than Betty, and in his circles men often married way younger women. They'd worked together for years, Betty and Daniel. She'd always been like Daniel this and Daniel that, always having Daniel's best interest in mind. They knew each other better than they knew anybody else, he supposed. Must have been one of the stories of best friends suddenly realizing they loved each other. As Betty wouldn't compromise when it came to love, she would go for nothing less than the best. Daniel was OK. He could have lost her to some fool who didn't know how to treat her. Daniel was OK. Daniel had money and could spoil her and pamper her and say, "Hey, let's go to Paris for Christmas!" and because she loved Daniel, no doubt in that, she'd lighten up and smile and say, "Yes! Yes! I'll go to Paris with you!" And she would actually go.

"Well, this proves Becks wrote about us – and he made it into a love story." Anna gave Gio a worried glance. "That bothers you?"

"Journalists make up stories all the time," Gio tried to be cool about it. "And here I thought all the TV cooks wanted me to guest them simply because I'm an awesome cook."

He wasn't just as cool about it when Antonella emailed him, saying their mother was in tears because he hadn't told them he had a girlfriend. Half the world knew before his own family, before his own mother. Why hadn't he told them? Was he ashamed of them – his own family, since this girlfriend had an education? Was he living in sin with her, all isolated in the ice? Their mother wanted the full story – NOW. She wanted to know all about this Anna. Was she Catholic? If she wasn't, would she mind the children being raised as Catholics? Would she be back in the States around February? There of course had to be an engagement party. A wedding couldn't be planned in less than 10 months' time – but Anna of course had to decide. The groom and his family didn't have much say when it came to the wedding. "Mom thinks she looks pretty BTW. You so have to wear shoes with heels, bro ;-)"

"It's in the papers back home," Gio informed Anna. "My mother wants to know when you will make an honest man of me."

The _'Gionistas unite!'_ forum:

Cookie73: _"Sorry, SandwichGirl! I just couldn't believe that anyone of us would know such a thing! Girlie, this is huge! Don't you think she looks more like K. Hudson than K. Holmes? It could be I see this because I hate ! he he. I don't know if I hate her. I think I do. Gio should be holding me – not her…" _

Giofanette:_ "She looks nice. Hate to say so. You're not an idiot when you are a glaciologist. Not that I'm a snob who likes her better because she has a nice job, I just say she can't be an idiot. And he looks so happy, don't you think? How high is he, you reckon? Must be listed somewhere. I tried measuring from that spoon he's holding, but I don't really know how long that is. I like that he's so confident that he doesn't worry about her being taller than him."_

mrsrossi_: "5'4 – or 5'6, I'd guess. She must be 3-4 inches taller than him. That's cool. They don't seem to mind that at all. I wouldn't either *giggles!* And you're right – he looks so happy! Imagine meeting each other at such a remote place. And he went there with a broken heart. Glad to see broken hearts can heal. Plus I'm so glad he's OK. I was afraid he'd just ended up on the street or something because he was kicked out of the show and was blue and all that… "_

SandwichGirl:_ "Told you chicas! WHAT DID I SAY????" _

Gio addresses his parents in his pre Christmas email: _"Mom and Dad, you really shouldn't believe everything you read in papers. We weren't even aware this journalist would describe us as sweethearts. He was like 2 ½ day on an expedition out in the ice with Anna and a team, and they had an accident, and the ½ day here at the station he talked to everybody, like chatted. No one thought he'd make articles of us. We hadn't imagined he would tell such fairytales._

_Anna is 28, she's a glaciologist. She's Swedish born, an only child. When she was to start her studies, her parents decided they would all move to the States. Her father is an engineer, her mother a surgeon, a heart specialist. They are now all American citizens, her parents live in Wisconsin. She's a very sweet girl and a very nice person, and we like each other a lot – I guess you can tell by the photos? But we are not in a relationship like that. It's just that you get very close to people you get on with when you live like here. We are so few, and we live on such limited space. You seem to be more intimate than you are. I assure you that we have each our sleeping space. _

_I can't say she is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I must learn to know who she is in another environment – and I figure she can't take your word for me being an awesome guy and the best possible husband she could find. I know I'm disappointing Mom here, but all the photos of Anna and I don't mean there'll be the pitter patter of little feet anywhere near me in the close future. Anna is very much a career woman, and if we ever decide this is more than a really good friendship, we would postpone having children at least till she is in the mid 30's. _

_Anna is sweet – but don't make this into something much bigger than it is. Love to you all, Gio_."

Email to Gio from Antonella: "_Mom says that Swedish woman is just using you. But you don't fool me. It's the other way round, right? It's that Betty cow still, isn't it? FORGET HER!!!! Nella – no kisses."  
_

Phone call between Betty and Hilda, Wednesday, Dec 23, 2009:

_Hilda_: "I've bought all the papers and magazines with the Gio-Anna-story – in case you don't get any of it over there in Europe. Some of it is on the internet. I'll save it as favorites. You were absolutely right. He does look in love…"

_Betty_: "I don't recall saying…."

_Hilda_: "And that Anna thing, she is so sweet. But she could need some helpful hints in the skincare and makeup department. I could tell her a thing or two. And I'd love to get my fingers in that hair. I don't suppose she has proper shampoo down there. Can you imagine our Gio at the South Pole, Betty?"

_Betty_: "Umm, no…"

_Hilda_: "It's been so busy here at the salon, with the holidays coming up and all, and I have extra copies of the magazines here. The ladies make eyes when I tell them I know Gio, that I practically dated him. They're all so taken with him. There's speculations that Ramsay and those Hell's Kitchen folks will offer him the chef's job at the SF restaurant, you know where poor Michelle died."

_Betty:_ "Speculations where? At the Hell's Kitchen message board?"

_Hilda_: "There… everywhere. People talk. And he has like a lot experience now, after working for the government for a year. They say he's coming home in February. But no of the articles says whether he's coming home-home, as to New York, or home as to the US."

_Betty_: "I like didn't phone to talk about Gio…"

_Hilda_: "I know, I know. So how is Paris? What have you been up to? Have you met DJ's folks? How is their house? Do you miss us at all? I'll tell _Papi_ you do even if you don't. _She misses us big_ _time, Papi!_ Have you bought any clothes? Let the girls in the shops help you choose before you buy anything. But you must buy something. It's _Paris!_"

_Betty:_ "I miss you. I didn't think I'd miss you this much. It's cool here. The suite is – great. It's huge. We – _I_ – like have a whole flat here. I have three bathrooms. "

_Hilda_: "Betty has three bathrooms! You must take pictures. You can mms them to me. I'd like to see the Eiffel tower too. And the Chanel store. You can buy any bag in the Chanel store! Any Chanel bag is always right!"

_Betty_: "DJ's folks are nice people. And they make me feel welcome too. But everything here is so – French. They say it'll be a nice, quiet Christmas dinner, the grandparents and DJ, Daniel and I – and I'm afraid I'll burst out into tears and say something silly and make them think I'm ungrateful and silly. These French women, Hilda, they are so elegant. And small. Even the tall ones are small. I get anxiety attacks when I think of the Christmas dinner. Thank God, we're not sleeping over there – they have this huge apartment over two floors in a big townhouse overlooking the Seine. I'd die if I had to have Christmas breakfast there. Oh Hilda, I'll miss you and _Papi_ and Justin at Christmas breakfast!"

_Hilda_: "You can see us any day, Betty. Now you're in Paris! Don't feel guilty. Enjoy yourself! Have fun. Let Daniel pay – I'm sure he is willing. And take pictures – I want to see it all once you're home, baby!"

_Betty:_ "Ummm. I will enjoy myself."

_Hilda:_ "Go look for some mags with the Gio story. It'll cheer you up!"

_Betty_: "Bye, Hilda! Give my love to Papi and Justin."

"You know what you're saying yes to?" Anna asked. "I'm not sending this before I know what you are up to. You know it'll cause more media once you're home. You want that?"

Gio shrugged his shoulders: "The guy took the trouble to get a go from who knows high up in the governmental system, and it took him like a week. Tells me the guy is serious. And I've seen him. He's no frills. I like him. If he wants to come here and cook with me – and you all think it's OK, well, why would I say no?"

Anna studied him. "I ask you. Not long ago you were totally against any media at all. You didn't want to be seen. You were playing the invisible man. Now you're screaming "look at me!" That's a massive change in a short time, and I wonder where this new exhibitionism comes from. You didn't want to give Becks an interview – now you say yes to a TV show."

"Yes." Gio folded his arms in front of his chest. "This Jamie Oliver dude seems cool. I'll cook with him. I'll need a job when I get home. I'm not like you – I don't have a job waiting, Anna. I sold the deli. If people remember me as the guy from the South Pole, they'll think they know me. And maybe give me a job. Gio – the polar Chef!"

It was a good explanation. Trouble was Anna didn't believe him.

"You've been like this since you read that Betty is in Paris with her boss." Anna saw his reaction. She knew she was spot on. He'd become distracted since he'd read the posts – and he'd mumbled about Betty dashing off to Europe with Daniel, as it was a personal insult at him. "You want to show her you're someone too, don't you? You want to show her you are fine and that you don't miss her at all, don't you?"

He looked down. "If I do," he finally said. "Would that be so wrong?"

"Not if you're honest about it."

"Send that email to that Jamie Oliver guy. I want to do the show."

Anna did what he demanded. He could have written the email on his own, but had all in a sudden become insecure and had wanted her to spell check and make it more formal. From what little Anna had seen of Jamie Oliver, he didn't strike her as the most formal man on earth. Gio would impress him by being himself, but he didn't listen.

"Will you let this ruin Christmas here?" she asked. "If you intend to sulk and behave like a jealous teenager, I'd prefer to know in advance. As then I'll spend less time with you and more with people who want to make Christmas nice."

"I won't ruin Christmas," Gio promised. Anna believed him only partly.


	9. Chapters 10 t12, the Christmas Carol sui

When Hell Freezes Over, chapters 10-12

ch 10: _**A Christmas Carol, part 1:**_ **Crise de foie**

"I'm not good with presents," Daniel said to Betty. "You know I'm not good with presents."

Betty knew. As his personal assistant she bought all the presents he found it in his heart to give. She would have to fill him in on what he gave people this year as well.

"But I of course want to give you a Christmas present. So what do you prefer: Pearls or some other stones? I know you like pearls as you wear them daily – your signature necklace…"

"Those are no real pearls, Daniel! I wouldn't dare to wear real pearls or other expensive jewelry. And I certainly don't want no present from you, silly! You have already given me this wonderful travel here – to Paris. I see this whole experience as a huge present, the best ever."

"But you must have a present," he argued and gave her his platinum card. Well, Mode's platinum card anyway. "Why don't you have some fun in the shops, Betty? Buy whatever you like. You know what you want. I want to give you what you want. Isn't that a good deal? Shops do nothing for me, but you feel free to have a ball. A girl can't visit Paris and not go wild in the designer stores. That's what my sister tells me. I wouldn't know. I have never been a girl. I'll get a car and a driver for you – spend all day. Spend as much money as you like. It is my Christmas present to you!"

And a personal one too, Betty thought sadly, but she accepted the card. Daniel was Daniel. This was Daniel showing affection.

The concierge knew of a vintage shop where one could make bargains. He jotted down the address for her and gave her a discrete glance. "I'm sure _Mademoiselle_ will find something there. They have a wide range of sizes. Ask for advice. These ladies have superb taste. _Mademoiselle_ will be _chic._ _Trés chic!" _

Betty felt like a fish out of water when she entered the _trés _chic vintage boutique. She liked nice things, but she wasn't used to this class of shops. And she immediately felt her kind wasn't their kind of customer. The two women who worked there gave her half a look and decided to ignore her. She could read their thoughts. _"Silly America tourist. Just browsing." _ She was Julia Roberts in _"Pretty Woman." _ Without Julia Roberts' smile. Without her guts. 

She browsed for half an hour before she decided she had to ask for help – as she no way would embarrass herself visiting many more shops of this kind. Not this way. She waited till the other four customers had paid and left. Then she boldly approached the two _trés chic_ women behind the counter, presented them with the platinum card, gave them her widest smile and wished she could have slammed Richard Gere over the counter as well. He, on second thought, might be just a tiny bit too old for such activities; be kind to your elderly. She had however needed Daniel there. He could have pretended to be her sugar daddy.

"I need help," she said. "I'm attending a Christmas party with a French family – and I have nothing to wear. I need everything. Everything!"

The customer is always right, she thought. And I have money! She wanted to shout that out loud to get some respect. '_I have money! I can pay!'_

The French ladies knew she needed everything. Both had eyes. What they doubted, was how credit worthy she was. The platinum card convinced them. With a platinum card you don't need a sugar daddy. You don't need Richard Gere. The ladies measured Betty – and minutes later presented her with outfits that turned out to fit her more or less. Never once did they mention her size in numbers. They didn't breathe what they thought about her body. When a skirt couldn't be buttoned, they didn't say that she was too big. They said "oh, _non non non_, that is not your color, _Mademoiselle!_ " And they smacked their tongue, mimicking a machinegun.

In the end Betty left with a copy of a Chanel suit. Not that anyone had mentioned the foul word _"copy"._ It was an ensemble _"inspired by Chanel". _The blouse was a real Chanel however, and the stylish pumps were genuine Dior's. _"Barely touched by human soles!" _And the purse was a Versace – which turned out to be at least third hand, and as it was Italian and a little vulgar to the French eyes and had been in store for almost half a year, they chopped a good percentage off the indicated price on that one. The ladies walked Betty through the lingerie department and strongly suggested what she needed. Betty didn't dare protest, she just made sure – three times, that the lingerie wasn't vintage. And she was advised to get real silk stockings.

"You will never regret the purchase, _Mademoiselle_, and your man …." Tongue smacking. "…he will love them!"

They said three pairs, and Betty nodded as if that was exactly the number she would have said, and she saw them wrap up everything. The figures spilled out by the cash register made her pale, but she swallowed hard and pulled the card – and held her breath till she was sure the card wasn't rejected.

"And remember, _Mademoiselle_," the oldest of the women gave her one last advice, "if you are to wear any jewelry – just a string of pearls. Less is more,_ non_? Less is more! _Au revoir_!"

"_Au revoir_. Less is more," Betty repeated, happy her Parisian shopping experience was over.

The French had their big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. Betty was glad she after all had accepted Daniel's offer and had found a more French outfit for the occasion. She had packed for a vacation – not really giving a thought to the formal events she'd have to attend. She hadn't been aware there would be formal events.

Daniel took a step back when he saw her in the ensemble inspired by Chanel.

"Wow…eh…gee…eh…my…wow! You look – different!" he complimented her, elegant with words as ever.

Different wasn't the reaction she had hoped for. Her face expressed that.

"You look great," he corrected, "absolutely great!"

She felt pretty great. Maybe not like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman", but pretty, and great, and yes – different, too. Deep violet turned out to be her color. The fabric was not quite Chanel, but pretty close. Betty wouldn't have felt any better in a real Chanel. The just below the knee, narrow skirt was tight – they ladies had said it _"embraced her curves",_ and that sounded good. Sitting was a bit hard – she had to remember to keep her knees together at all times. How difficult could that be on Christmas Eve? The blouse was silk and crème, the stockings were crème, and silk really made a difference. She would never have guessed. The shoes were almost the same shade as the skirt and jacket, and they were sky high – and a little difficult to walk in, but how much did you walk during a Christmas dinner? Her slightly vulgar – to French eyes, purse was golden, it gave her the true Christmas feeling, and Betty already loved it.

DJ's grandmother, _Mme _Chainet, complimented her outfit. Betty straightened her back. She managed to stand and walk indoors without clinging to Daniel's arm. The carpets were dangerous, but she gracefully managed all the way to a white leather coach. Her knees didn't bend too badly when walking. She actually felt quite graceful. The toes ached a bit after five minutes of standing. Sitting was a blessing. She accepted the _aperó _ DJ's granddad, _M_ Chainet _(" call me Gerard, all pretty_ _women call me Gerard!")_ handed her. She accepted the second and third _apéro _as well. When in France the _apéros_ were _champagne_. DJ's granny told them how food was very important in the celebration of a French Christmas. Betty could relate to that. She told how food was very important in the celebration of a Mexican Christmas.

"I'm of course American," she explained sipping her fourth _apéro_. "But for holidays we are very Mexican."

"We manage through most of dinner before going to midnight mass," DJ's granny said and kept a strict schedule. "If we move to the dining room now…"

"We'll never get through dinner before mass," DJ whispered to Betty.

French food was nothing like Mexican food, or American for that matter. They were served _fois gras_. Betty had never tasted that, but she liked it enough to have a second serving. They had _huitres_ – oysters, and more champagne. They had _saumon fume_, grilled salmon, and white _poisson, _some other white fish Betty didn't recognize, followed with white wine, all French, of course. They then had _viande,_ beef, followed with a rich red wine. And then there was _fromage_ – a collection of tasty cheeses with small glasses of sweet wine.

By then Betty's skirt wasn't quite her color, but she couldn't unbutton it. It would never button again if unbuttoned. She sweated in sheer panic and hoped they could rest a bit before eating more. The skirt was so narrow around her knees she probably couldn't go to the toilet all eve. That was a real problem. She would have to pretend to drink wine the rest of the evening and night. How long could these French dinner parties last?

"We'll return after mass and 'ave desserts and coffee and chocolates," _Mme_ Chainet smiled. "And we'll open presents. Daniel 'as always loved to stay up late and open presents after midnight mass. _Pére Noël_ 'as been 'ere with the presents during mass…"

"We run an old fashioned 'ousehold here," DJ's grandfather – Gerard! - said, winking an eye. "A real French 'ousewife can serve no less than 13 desserts on Christmas Eve! _Ma belle_ Marie is a real 'ousewife!" "

Betty looked at him in horror. He wasn't joking. But luckily they had no time to start on the desserts – they had to leave for church. Midnight mass was only half an hour away.

Betty felt the world move a bit when she got up from the table. An earthquake – in Paris? She didn't know they got them in Europe. It had to be the shoes. She wasn't used to heels this height – air got thin to breathe where she reached when adding three inches to her length. But she stood. She breathed and she still stood. She was slightly wobbly, but she had to take tiny steps anyway, as the skirt wouldn't allow her anything else.

It was hot. She was extremely hot. She could feel sweat running down her spine. Her face felt wet. Her knees trembled. Betty had a heel problem. She reached for Daniel's arm, but he wasn't close enough. She fell over the table and saw the tablecloth slide, causing plates and cutlery and glasses to fall off the table like rolling stones – or a landslide. Betty fell on top of it all, and when she thought nothing could be worse, her mouth watered and watered and she threw up over the carpet and table cloth and silver and crystal.

She closed her eyes and was ready to die.

DJ's grandfather minimized it as a _crise de foie_, her stomach wasn't used to the _foie gras_. It wasn't worse than that. Betty cried and could agree it was a_ crise_ – and she wanted to return to the hotel ASAP. She wanted to return to America ASAP. She wanted to disappear as a Las Vegas magic act. DJ's granny understood how miserable she felt, and spoke very fast in French and hushed all the men to church. While they were away, she pampered Betty, had her lie down and said there was nothing to worry about. She had rosy cheeks and her eyes sparkled when she whispered to Betty that she understood that Betty wanted to keep this a sweet secret till Christmas morning.

"What a lovely surprise for Daniel, _ma petite_. You couldn't give 'im a better Christmas present."

"Huh?"

The older woman winked an eye in conspiracy. "And I won't say a word, _chérie_. Not a word! _C'est un crise de foie_."

Betty nodded. She was dizzy. Too many _apéro_s.

Mme Chainet insisted that Betty had to call her Marie. Betty called her Marie. And Marie called her _Bettie_.

"Ah, _petite,_ you're practically _famille_. We are so 'appie Daniel introduce you to us. 'e is like a father to our Daniel, you know, and big Daniel's _chérie_ will be important to our Daniel, _oui_? And _un bébé_ will be like a brother or a sister, _oui?"_

"Uhm," Betty answered, not really listening.

"You just rest, _ma chérie_. I'll wake you when the men are back."

Betty could rest. She closed her eyes. It was hard falling asleep when your cheeks burned in shame. It was a _crise de foie_. It was a total disaster.

_**Chapter 11. A Christmas Carol, part 2: That Merry Christmas Spirit**_

She had fallen asleep after all. She woke up to the familiar smell of turkey. For a second she thought she was home, that _Papi _was preparing Christmas dinner, but then she remembered everything, and she jumped to her feet, hearing the sound of fabric tearing. She could feel how it was easier to breathe. It was easier to move her legs. She didn't have to remember to keep her knees close. The _trés chic_ skirt was history.

It had to be just after midnight – even if the smell of roast turkey indicated a later time of day. Her stomach ached, as did her throat and jaws, and her cheeks flushed when she remembered the awful moment when she threw up over the beautifully laid Christmas table. She couldn't look at the Chainet's. She somehow had to get Daniel's attention, and he had to smuggle her out of here, as he could never look at _M_ and _Mme_ Chainet ever again. She could barely look at DJ. She'd made a total spectacle of herself!

Her clutch was on the bedside table. Mme Chainet had let her nap in what seemed to be a guest room – delicate in colors, delicate in furnishing. Her mobile phone battery allowed her to phone Daniel. She could hear his phone go off in the next room.

"Daniel," his voice brushed her ear. She heard him in stereo. He'd obviously moved into the little hall between the sitting room and the guest room.

"Hush! It's me. Betty. Save me! But don't make them understand you're talking to me. Get me out of here – I can't be here one minute longer!"

"But…"

"I'm in the guest room. I think you're leaning against my door…"

Daniel opened the door. He folded his cell and entered.

"Marie insisted we shouldn't wake you up," he said. "We've had more champagne. And she's making _dinde aux marrons_. Turkey with chestnuts. It's lovely, DJ states."

"You can't be hungry still!" Betty whispered in disgust.

"I didn't eat as much _foie gras_ as someone else I could point at…"

"I don't think I can eat anything else this year."

"There are still 13 desserts waiting for you, Betty…"

"I puked all over the table," she whispered.

"No one will mention that. And you won't see any signs of your little accident…"

"I tore my skirt."

His brows rose. He wasn't able to hide his broad smile.

"Don't you laugh! I can't go back there in my underskirt."

"I'm sure Marie has something you can borrow…" No problem was too big for Daniel. He hardly ever had to solve them. Of course problems were merely challenges from his point of view.

"She's two sizes smaller than I. Don't humble me! Just get me out of here. "

"DJ hasn't opened his presents yet. I'll talk to Marie."

"No. No – no, please, no, Daniel! Tell them I'm still – a bit pale. Go open pressies with DJ. Have fun. You're here for DJ's sake. I'll nap here till you're ready to leave. I can't eat another chestnut, I swear!"

"But everybody wants you there too!"

"Go!" she ordered.

Daniel obeyed. He fled.

She heard their voices, she heard them laugh. And she missed her own family. She felt so alone that she had to force herself not to cry. It was Christmas. She had no one in this strange town, many thousand miles from home. She could see every one of her family when she closed her eyes, and they were not here. She could not reach them. She'd never been so far away from them before. She had never been so lost.

But she didn't cry.

An hour later the door opened and Marie Chainet whispered, "Bettie… Daniel says you 'ad an accident…"

Of course he had.

"I 'ave this black dress you can 'ave… "

Betty rubbed her eyes and knew the makeup was ruined. Now she politely had to thank Mme Chainet and just as politely explain why the two of them weren't likely to go treasure hunting in each other's wardrobes.

"It's a little thing from years back. I wore it when I carried Daniel's _maman…"_

Great! _Mme_ Chainet offered Betty a maternity dress. But beggars couldn't be choosers. She thanked and _Mme_ Chainet disappeared discreetly. Betty decided she'd survive. She had already humiliated herself to the absolute lows. She couldn't get lower than this. And no one in America would ever know she had celebrated Christmas in an outdated maternity dress. She got out of her wrinkled blouse and slid into the creation Marie had brought.

French maternity dresses were nothing like the ones she'd seen in America. It really wasn't a maternity dress at all. It was a chiffon coture dress, layer upon layer of thin black _chiffon_, some of the layers had golden threads. The outer layer was embroidered with tiny golden glass beads. It was sleeveless and cut so deep it showed more cleavage than she had ever dared show. On the other hand Hilda gave away a bit more on a daily basis. She tried to cover more, which was impossible, and decided it had to be acceptable. Marie thought it was acceptable. She tried to save the makeup, and she put up her hair with some combs and needles she had in the clutch. A dress like this demanded that you put up your hair. She didn't recognize her own picture in the mirror. The stranger dared join the family that wasn't her own.

It wasn't awkward. It wasn't awkward at all.

They greeted her without mentioning her accident. Gerard fussed around her and behaved almost as fatherly as her father would have. Marie served her chocolate with a touch of chili and lots of cream. None of them offered her more champagne, and Betty didn't miss the sparkles.

They had turkey with chestnut in the middle of night, and Betty was able to squeeze down the delicateries that followed. They had the _bûche_, the traditional chocolate cake that looked like a log, and was meant to resemble the log and the fire the families had gathered round in the old days. They had _chocolats, crème brûlée, tarte aux fraises_, and the strawberries were sweet even if it was in the middle of winter, they had pears in red wine – _poires au vin rouge_ and yet another rich chocolate cake – _gâteau Lawrence_.

"Now I hardly can move," Betty sighed with pleasure.

"Ah, but you don't have to, Bettie," Gerard Chainet insisted. "You and Daniel can sleep over here."

"Oh, but we must back to the hotel!"

"We must back to the hotel," Daniel echoed.

"Gerard, they must back to the hotel," Marie Chainet said, giving her husband a glance that spoke, that reminded him of what they had spoken of earlier – and he recalled and smiled and looked at Betty and Daniel with knowledge and warmth.

The glance confused Daniel, and it made Betty blush.

She wanted to go home. She wanted Papi and Hilda and Justin. She wanted _Papi'_s Christmas breakfast.

There was champagne on ice in the limo. No one made sure Betty didn't get her share of the bubbles there.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" Daniel asked and emptied his glass. "You handled it fine. And that dress is even better than the frock you started the evening in."

He obviously thought he'd given her a compliment. Betty thanked him. She dimmed the really bad, the really awful - no matter what Daniel thought, memories with more champagne.

"Drive past the Eiffel tower, will you?" Daniel told the chauffeur.

They opened yet another bottle of champagne. The tower looked even more majestic this night, Betty thought. They drove under it – and life wasn't that bad after all for a simple girl far away from home.

Slightly tipsy the duo stumbled out of the car and into the hotel. Betty tried hard to walk dignified. The paving stones and the heels were a bad match. She fell giggling into Daniel's arms. He wasn't prepared, but his instincts were good. His reputation had come from his ability to balance women in his arms. Well, that was step 1 to his reputation. (The remaining steps suits poorly in a Christmas spirited chapter.) Daniel caught her.

"Ooops! We can't have you falling for me!" he laughed at his own joke.

"That was really, really lame, even for you."

He still laughed as they reached the elevator. And then he kissed her. He hadn't planned it – it just happened out of the blue. And it somehow didn't occur to Betty as such a bad idea. She kissed him back. It was Christmas. It was Paris. Her only friend in Paris was Daniel. Kissing was good.

They continued kissing along the corridor and walked past their door twice before they remembered their room number. Temporary amnesia indicated kisses worth a good 9 on a scale from 0-10. They fell into the suite, not bothering to turn on the lights. Betty dropped her clutch. Daniel dropped the paper bag with presents and the bottle of champagne he had brought from the car. He fought himself out of his cashmere coat. He kicked off his shoes, he tore off the tie and unbuttoned her jacket to enable her to let it slide off her shoulders.

The unknown dance they performed through the suite lead to his bedroom door, and they left a path of clothes behind them. He kissed her with a hunger that almost scared him, but once he touched her lips with his once more, he forgot the fear and only felt the heat. Daniel cupped her full hips in his hands, and passionately he pressed her against him, her body following his, inch by inch. He was eager for her.

He removed the pins from her hair. He felt the silky, dark waterfall against his hands, and he brushed his fingers through it before anchoring her face between his caressing palms, kissing her passionately, deeply. Betty sighed and tilted her head back. Her arms slipped around his neck, she pulled him closer. He parted his lips, and her tongue could explore him. Daniels hands moved. The dress she had borrowed had a really deep neckline. Two fingers followed the cleavage. They explored the inside of her dress, explored the blondes of her new lingerie.

"I want you," he whispered.

She pulled her breath. Filled her lungs with air. Wanted to give him a brave answer. And those shoes made her feet ache. She wanted to kick them off. She wanted to get out of the dress. She wanted to show him her new, sexy, Parisian lingerie.

Her head swam. She grabbed him by the shirt and allowed herself to fall backwards into the bed. She hoped the bed was just behind her. And he didn't try to save them from hitting the floor, so she reckoned she was where she thought she was. She reckoned she had him where she thought she had him.

"I'm ready and willing," she told, her lips touching Daniel's.

That ache. Sweet Mary, that ache! Her skull was about to burst. Her mouth was so dry she could barely part her lips. Betty opened one eye. Blur. She closed it. She opened the other eye. Blur. She opened both eyes at the same time. Painful light invading her brain. Painful, blurry light. Blurred shades that meant nothing to her. Deadweight over her stomach. Holding her down. It was painful to move her head to the side, but she did.

Daniel sleeping on his belly, mouth open. His arm over her stomach. His naked arm over her stomach. Correction: His naked arm over her naked stomach.

Betty closed her eyes.

She could still feel him. She could hear him snoring.

Holy Mary – what had they done?

It was Christmas morning and she was naked in Daniel's bed. Deep down in that blur in her brain she had a tiny, vague memory of champagne and kisses and her palms sliding over hot, smooth skin, she had an even vaguer memory of hands caressing her naked skin…

What had they done?

Her mobile played "Jingle Bells" somewhere near. Betty escaped the bed without waking Daniel. She had no idea where her glasses were, but she followed the cheerful sound till she found the clutch – in the hall leading to their lounge. She grasped for the phone, pressed to answer and found Daniel's jacket and covered herself up with it before escaping into one of the bathrooms.

"Merry Christmas!" Hilda greeted her from across the Atlantic. Betty could hear her father and Justin following Hilda's lead. "It's dead early here, but we wanted to say hello before it's lunch time in Europe."

"Merry Christmas," Betty breathed, not really able to fondle that happy Christmas spirit.

"How was your Christmas breakfast? What do they eat in Europe? Have you opened our presents? What did Daniel give you?"

"I have not eaten." Betty was too sick to lie. "They celebrate Christmas till really late here in France…"

"They do? You sound a bit off color. Wanna say hi to _Papi_?"

She didn't really want to, but she did. She was glad Hilda couldn't afford a long overseas call. She promised to phone back soon. Hilda hung up. Betty rested her head to the toilet seat.

That was where Daniel found her – much later. Betty believed she had slept a little. Her body ached from sitting on the bathroom floor.

He pulled her up, he held her in his arms, and she hung there like a puppet. She leaned his head against his naked chest.

"How can men walk about naked?" she asked.

"How much do you remember about last night?" Daniel asked, stroking her back gently. He kissed one temple, but she didn't respond.

"We had sex," she said. "Is there more to remember? Ah – and I puked over the Chainet's table. Mme Chainet thinks I'm pregnant with your child. Omigod – I might very well be!" She lifted his face and looked at him in horror. "We were too drunk to use anything!"

"We were too drunk," he confirmed. "But this isn't then end of the world, Betty…"

"You are maybe used to waking up with naked women all the time," she said, her skull aching for every word she uttered. "But I am not used to doing this. I feel awful, Daniel. I feel totally awful."

He kissed her hair, and she withdrew from his embrace.

"I can't do this," she said, turning her back on him. "I want to go home, Daniel. I want to go home now."

"It's Christmas Day," he tried to explain. "Nothing happens on Christmas Day. You're stuck with me today."

"I want to go home tomorrow." Betty was reasonable. "Tomorrow. No later than tomorrow. And you are not going with me. "

"You're mad with me? I was that bad?"

She gave him a harsh glance. "This is no joke."

He backed. He didn't understand her – but he got that she didn't want to see him. Or talk to him or touch him.

"For what it's worth, I liked what happened between us, Betty," he said sadly.

She locked the bathroom door between them.

She filled the tub with water. She poured too much bath foam into the tub. While watching the mountain of bubbles grow, she texted Hilda: "I slept with Daniel." As soon as the message was sent, she switched off the phone. She wasn't ready for Hilda's reaction, but she nevertheless had to tell her.

_**Chapter 12: A Christmas Carol, Part 3: White Christmas**_

Christmas Day was about to end. The turkey dinner had been a success. They had gone through a selection of Christmas carols. Those with families back home had spent the morning chatting with children and wives and husbands.

Gio had been busy. He had realized how traditions were closely connected to food and tastes. He tried to give everyone at the station what they needed to get the real Christmas feeling. He tried to give them the smells and tastes and dishes that were Christmas to them. And every time one of his mates smiled and thanked him, he felt less tired, he was glad he'd stretched and made a difference.

By the time he thought of checking his mail and sending his folks a greeting, the internet connection was down. That happened sometimes. It could last for an hour or for days. It was little they could do, but wait.

"Mom will be worried," he said.

"She knows this is Antarctica," Anna comforted him. "You're not next door. She knows that. You can tell her what happened once we're connected again. You can tell her you had a white Christmas."

"Ha ha."

"What would you buy me for Christmas if we were in the US?" Anna asked. "I know we rise above the present race – but let's pretend. What would you give me if we celebrated in NY?"

"Would you come to NY with me? For Christmas? To Mom that would be a sign of a close wedding. July, I'd say. September at latest. You are willing to risk such speculations?"

"Or Wisconsin." Anna didn't want to give him an answer. "Give me something!"

"You women are so demanding!" he sighed. "I've never been to Wisconsin. I could be tempted. Your father wouldn't want to talk to me man to man? He wouldn't present me with a shotgun and ask me in a serious voice which intentions I have?"

"You're so cheap you don't want to buy me anything?"

Gio rolled his eyes. "Can't buy you a ring. We're not there. You wear necklaces? Bracelets? Your ears aren't pierced. You like silver? Or gold? I don't know what you like when you're not here. I could buy you perfume. But I don't know which scent you like. I don't know if you like to dress up when you're home. And all that stuff – they're boyfriend presents. I could give you walking boots. I know your shoe size. But do you like excursions when you're not here? For all I know, you like dancing when you're home…"

She smiled – as sad smile.

"You like dancing?" he asked. "I like dancing."

"I don't really dance," Anna responded.

"No dancing shoes. Maybe a cookbook. You need a cookbook. Unless you're basing your future on having a cook in the house?"

"You're totally vain, Giovanni Rossi!"

"Cookbook." He pretended he wrapped a book and gave it to her.

"I'd give you a haircut," she smiled. "And a cape that could make you invisible. To enable you to escape all the worshipping women when you walk among them."

"I thought we weren't pretending."

"Aren't we always?" Anna asked.

She hit something sore inside him. They were at a turning point in their relationship, Gio felt, and they had reached here sooner than he had expected. In a way he had hoped they'd never reach this point. They had fun. He didn't want this to become too serious. She didn't mind. But she didn't want them to become serious.

They sat in her room. She on the bed, he in her chair. He wasn't sure he'd make it to her bed this eve, Christmas and all her talk of presents or not.

"Betty," said Anna.

She was obsessed with Betty, Gio thought. That was slightly annoying. He didn't want to be reminded of Betty. He didn't want to have pictures of Betty and Daniel in his brain. He didn't want to imagine them in romantic Paris on this merry day. Heaven only knew what they ate in France for Christmas. He was pretty sure they drank champagne. The French always drank champagne. Daniel probably showered her in champagne. Gio tortured himself, fantasizing of sweet, soft kisses tasting champagne.

"You don't have a present for me. Tell me about Betty instead." Anna was stubborn, he'd give her that!

"I have told you about Betty," Gio pointed out, trying not to sound too irritated. "And it's not like you have a present for me…"

"I might." She was vague about it. "You haven't told me about her – you have described Betty. Deep dark eyes, silky hair – as if I care about her looks. Looks tell so little. How is she? Why do you – still hang on to her like you do? Why are you so jealous because you know she's in Paris with her boss?"

Gio sighed. "OK." He folded his hands behind his head. "She's caring. I like how she's caring and warm and never puts herself first. She never does, you know. She looks after everybody else."

"Like – how?"

"Like – she helped her family financially when neither her father nor her sister had a stable income. She helped her father get a citizenship…"

"Every good daughter would do that."

Gio took a deep breath.

"She helped Daniel's mother out of a murder conviction."

"She what?" Anna thought he was joking, but understood he was dead serious. "Who are these Meade's she's working for? Are they involved in organized crime?"

"Long story," Gio rolled his eyes. "Very long and complicated story. No organized crime. You don't really need to know, Anna. But Betty kept Claire out of jail, that's for sure. Betty always helps Daniel when he's in trouble. And he has a talent for winding himself into trouble. She always cares for Daniel. It's almost sweet. She's like his fairy godmother…"

"…or his personal assistant?" Anna suggested. "You know, that would cover the work description for any personal assistant. I bet he pays her. It's called like wages – and now he's taken her to Paris!"

"Yeah! Rub it in!" He tilted his chair. "She gave her sis a job at Mode. And ditto her nephew. She won a good citizen award in junior high."

"I bet," Anna mumbled. She didn't want to mention the awards she had won at school. Her parents had always taught her not to brag. She was intelligent and that was a blessing. She should use that intelligence without stepping at other people.

"She threw a baby shower for her boyfriend's pregnant ex-girlfriend," Gio continued. Old memories popped up in his mind.

"Her _what_?" Anna widened her eyes. "Who are these people? Have you been living in a cartoon world before you came here? This is supposed to be the abnormal reality. But every time you open your mouth and tell me about your NY life, I wonder about normality…"

"They split up," Gio said, not bothering to argue with her, not allowing her to tease him into a quarrel or into passionately defending Betty. Anna wanted him to do that; to lose it. "The boyfriend and Betty split up. The pregnant ex eventually split them up. Or I did. Or we both."

"You stole her from another guy? I knew you were a ruthless dog."

She could call him whatever she wanted.

"I sort of stole her. She wanted to be whisked away from him, anyway. And he didn't really want her. She said no when he proposed. She'd have said yes had she wanted to be with him, don't you think? And she said yes to go to Rome with me…"

"You went to Rome with her?"

He shook his head. "She decided against it…"

Anna whistled. She could have been a construction worker. "Oh, oh! I understand the sore feelings you're harboring, my poor sweet boy. She's accepted a trip to Paris with someone else. It's a romantic city. The most romantic city ever…"

"… I'd say the most romantic city ever is Rome!" He had to argue with here at that point. He had been to Rome. He had loved Rome, and he was sure Betty would have loved Rome too – had she been brave enough to go there with him.

"Well, I think Paris holds the title." Anna was just as stubborn as Gio. "She probably would have gone with you, had you picked Paris. Wrong city!"

"Ha, ha…"

"But you obviously won her heart," Anna continued his saga of love lost. "I already know she totally stole yours. You two dated for how long?"

"We didn't exactly date," Gio admitted in a low, hoarse voice. "Not that I didn't try. She insisted we were in an exploratory phase. She likes to organize things. Exploratory, my arse! But she kissed me. And we danced. Sort of. We both chaperoned at a school dance. She danced with me for – at least twenty seconds…"

"And you kissed her how many times?" Anna admitted to be confused. Was this the awesome love story he sulked over? Was this the woman he had escaped? No wonder he hadn't let go of details earlier.

"Once. One kiss. And a half. Two. One lovely, deep French kiss. That counts for many average kisses…"

Anna laughed. "A kiss is a kiss. One kiss counts for one kiss. Don't fool yourself! Let me get this straight: You haven't been on a date with your Betty. You have kissed her – twice, and then I'm being nice. You have almost danced with her."

"Uhum."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty seven. You know I'm twenty seven."

"You sound twelve."

"Love doesn't have anything to do with age," Gio said.

"You blame her for having broken your heart. You go all yellow because she spends Christmas with another guy. And you fool yourself to believe you are in love with her," Anna ruthlessly summed up.

"I think I'm in love with her. I am in love with her. At least I was. She doesn't love me. What does it all matter? I don't know what I feel today. It doesn't matter."

"In-fat-u-a-tion," Anna explained. "Plus she's the one you can't get. She doesn't want you. Of course she gets more attractive once she says no to you."

"I'm not stupid, Anna," Gio insisted. "I wouldn't be that stupid. I know my heart. It aches. She made it bleed. She made it ache and bleed."

"And you'll persuade her to love you? You'll make her care for you? To do good stuff for you? To be your fairy godmother – slash – Tinkerbell-girlfriend? Wake up, Gio! Look at yourself! You are a grown man! You are too old for teenage infatuations!"

"She's always been very sweet to me…"

"But she doesn't love you," Anna said as an echo of Betty's words from more than a year back.

"And what good deeds has she done for you, Gio?" Anna demanded to know.

"She made sure to order lunches from my deli. She'd come down daily and buy her lunches there. And Daniel's lunches. "

Anna looked at him in contempt.

"And she made sure I got catering jobs for Mode."

"And you gave her some percentages off?"

He couldn't tell Anna she was totally wrong there.

"What has she done for you – that would tell me and everybody else she looked at you like a potential boyfriend -or a friend even? How has she been nice to you, her friend, her soulmate, the guy who lost his heart in front of her little feet?"

Gio gave it a thought. Betty had used to phone him when she needed help, when she needed someone who could carry something heavy or fix something broken or go on a date with her sister. She had phoned him when she needed a driver, or muscles, or when she needed help to help Daniel. She had phoned him when she needed to complain over this or that, or when she needed cheering up, or when she needed an advice or when she wanted someone to share her joy with. She told him everything. She loaded him down with her innermost thoughts and every one of her flimsy ideas. Not once had she phoned to ask how he was or to invite him out for something nice – just for him. Not once.

"She gave me my signature cheese," he said – and knew Anna had stated a point.

"Cheese?"

"I tried to smuggle in some awesome cheese from Italy. Long story. I didn't succeed. But Betty had Daniel help her get me some of that cheese. That was nice of her."

"You're really saying that this Daniel got you that cheese?"

Gio guessed some could twist the truth there.

"She sounds like a wonderful person," Anna sighed. "I have no idea what you see in her!"

"I gave you the present you wanted," he said. "You begged for it."

"You realize it's a present from me to you there as well?" Anna asked.

He didn't want to understand, but he saw what Anna had unwrapped.

"You're a harsh woman, Miss Ljung."

"I try to be a real friend. I try to take care of you, Gio. Whether you like me to or not."

"You don't dance? You really don't dance?" he asked.

Anna allowed him to skip from one subject to the other.

"I never had time to dance. I'm the girl with the books."

"I have another present for you, Anna," he said and jumped to his feet. He bowed in front of her. "I have a real present for you, one you don't know that you wanted. To my knowledge those are the best presents. I want to teach you to dance salsa."

Anna allowed him to pull her close. They had no space for dancing in her room, and Gio opened the door to the narrow corridor, embraced her and sang to her while throwing her around, wall to wall, the whole corridor length and back.

"What is this?" she giggled.

"Ricky Martin," he said – making her none the wiser. "And I told you it's salsa. Move those pretty feet, woman! I'll teach you the salsa if it's the last thing I do tonight."

They woke up those who had already gone to bed. They attracted the attention of all who had closed their doors. They opened their doors. They sang along with Gio, they clapped the rhythm, and before midnight, Anna had learned to dance salsa. Sort of.

They danced and forgave each other.

And they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Their winter wonderland was white and cold, and they needed the other, they needed the warmth shared in their every embrace.

What they shared had no name. Not yet.


	10. Chapter 1314

_**Chapters 13-14**_

_**When Hell Freezes Over, ch 13, My Sister Slept With Her Boss**_

Hilda didn't care that overseas calls cost an arm and a leg. She tried to reach Betty, but all she got was that the phone was switched off or Betty was somewhere with no connection. OK, Hilda understood: Of course Betty had switched off her mobile. She'd sent that text that screamed for more than one comment, and then she yellowed out, afraid of what Hilda would say.

Hilda had a lot on her mind. And no one to tell.

She sent fifteen messages telling Betty to phone the second she read the text. She knew the messages didn't reach Betty. Hilda's sisterly love and ditto curiosity was stuck in Queens. Typical Betty! She could have hit the sack with Daniel any day of the week in NY, and Hilda could have advised her on this one issue she was much more educated in than her sister. She knew everything about picking the wrong man. Then again: Maybe Daniel wasn't the wrong man after all! Ahat if he was just the one for Betty? What if they had gazed into each other's eyes and realized it was true love? And then hit the sack.

Her stomach twisted at that one, but it was a possibility. Everything was possible as long as Betty didn't get back to her. How could she throw off a bomb like that and then vanish into thin air? It couldn't have been the dream date. Hilda wouldn't have sent a message like that after a dream date. It would have been followed by a lot of kisses and smiley faces. Betty loved smileys as much as the next girl.

Hilda had so much to say! She had so many questions and worries and thoughts! And no one to tell – unless…

The _Gionistas_ was a bunch of women with life experience. They had seen a thing or two, or knew someone who had. They had some ideas about men. They had known some. They obviously had done some horizontal yoga in their days – and nights. What was more important: They had taste in men – they all adored Gio!

And they knew her. Respected her even. Hilda hadn't met that much up front respect in her life. She hadn't had that many friends who were women. Usually women looked at her and decided they knew her kind. She had been backstabbed one time too many.

The gionistas included her. She was one of them.

It was the one place where people loved her and nobody knew her name.

She could discuss everything with them. They didn't only chat about Gio. They weren't that shallow! They had multiple"life in general" threads as well. So far none called _"My sister slept with her boss!" _but that could easily be fixed.

Betty wouldn't know. Betty had no idea there existed a _Gionista _page. Betty had no idea _gionistas _existed.

_SandwichGirl _logged in and started a new thread. She quickly typed: _"My Sister Slept With Her Boss." _

She stayed put in front of the screen. It was impossible to deny the words once she saw them in print on the screen next to her nick.

"_I'm worried sick about my sister. She has been all secretive about this trip to Paris with her boss. She is like so close to him, but they have sort of been more like brother & sister, and I have never really imagined them as a couple. The thought of the two of them together like that is sort of freaking me out – I can't really think of that too long. He's like family. He should be looking after my sister – not seducing her, luring her to bed! Hey, I told our dad he had nothing to fear in this situation. My sister could just as well have travelled to Europe with a girlie friend, I told him. Nothing would happen to his baby girl. Yeah right! Not that I'm telling dad! Heaven forbid! Anyway, she hasn't told me like anything about what has been going on over there. Short text messages and photos of what she has seen, and gee, that is a beautiful city, right? And she has phoned a couple of times and like talked for almost an hour, and that should have told me something was going on. After all he pays the phone bill and the rooms and all… come to think of it, I think they share room – or suite, whatever, as she slipped during one of those calls and said 'we' and then corrected it to 'I' when she talked about the room she had – or they, as it turns out – I fear. Well, today, I called her to say 'merry Christmas' and she sounds totally out of it. I obviously caught her in bed, and yeah, it's like morning here, but it's midday in Europe – and hello! Still in bed around midday??? And then she texts me she has slept with her boss. Just that. And she switches off her phone. What can I do?" _

Cookie73: _"Yea! Go your sister! At least someone got laid this Christmas! And you'll all get a much better quality of Xmas presents when they're back from Paris! Envy your sis big time!"_

Gioslover: "_Is this the sister who Gio liked? Is she blind or what? Hope you're keeping it together, Sandwich-sweetie. You're not your sister's keeper. While you're angsting, she's probably I won't spell it out for you, not giving you a thought!"_

GrannyBeth: _"Let's not judge here before we know what has happened. In fact I'm not sure it's any of our business at all! Could be your sister and her boss fell in love while in Paris, and the new development is a result of that. Could have been in the air for a while even if you haven't noticed, SandwichGirl. You are used to seeing them as friends. Things can have been changing between them and they decided to go away to explore this – and maybe it was right. Imagine – falling in love in Paris during Christmas? What can possibly be more romantic?"_

Cookie73: _"I'll tell you what could be more romantic, GrannyBeth: Gio and I in Paris, falling in love during Christmas! Now that's romance for you!"_

Mrsrossi: _"I take it that you have heard nothing still, SandwichGirl? I understand your worry, especially if she only wrote that one sentence. Maybe it was really horrible, huh? And she's alone with her boss in a foreign country and can't make it home. He really can do anything to her. But I guess there's no need to panic. You have known this guy for some time? He wouldn't like – abuse her or anything? Does he have a reputation with women? A reputation for being violent? You must not stop trying to reach her though – maybe the hotel… but then maybe he would answer and say everything is OK… I don't mean to upset you or anything."_

SandwichGirl: _"He's a bit of a ladies' man, but he's very sweet – he wouldn't hurt a fly and not my sister. Not at all! But thank you all for caring. I'm just being the drama queen. She's having fun in Paris. He's sweeping her off her feet, and here I am being the silly sister. No one has ever tried to seduce me in Paris. Sigh! In backseats of cars and places I wouldn't describe to you, though maybe not during Christmas *smiles* I'm not used to the posh loving. She's of course fine. Can't hang over the computer all morning, my dad's getting suspicious, not to mention my teenage son. See you all later – merry Christmas! Sorry for panicking! You're the best!"_

GrannyBeth: _"We won't speculate, girls. This can be a very happy story! SandwichGirl will update – in the meantime: Have a brilliant Christmas! (What are you doing here anyway? Hush back to your families!)" _

Cookie73: "_Sure wonder what Gio is up to! Cooking I guess. I bet he rather would have been in Paris with me. Falling in love and getting laid. I would have so liked that! Who am I fooling – I would have settled with getting laid! Do you hear me, Gio? Lovesick hottie craving for your sexy moves! Thinking of you! And still envying SandwichGirl's sister. " _

Gio-Gurl-4-Ever: _"Gio is doing his sexy moves with that Swedish Anna, Cookie, my sweetie! Yeah – I'm rubbing it in! Merry Christmas!"_

Hilda practically fell out of the sofa as her cell did its Santa voiced "ho-ho-ho!" to tell her a new message was coming in. She fled out on the porch to read in privacy as soon as she understood Betty was finally communicating.

Text message from Betty to Hilda: _"Been silly. 2 much champers. Dealin w it in grown up way. My fault & his. D very sweet. Im OK. Home 2moro. Dont tell dad. Luv U."_

As if that said anything at all! Hilda was even more worried after having read Betty's edited version of her Parisian affair. And she was returning tomorrow? It had to be grim. But then again Betty had a reputation for running when the going got rough. Betty wasn't one to stand tall in confrontations, unless she was forced to. And Daniel was the same. Hilda very much doubted the two of them were dealing with it in a grown up way. She suspected they hid in each their rooms in the suite she was sure they shared, and avoided talking about it.

She would have loved to hold Betty and tell her the world wasn't collapsing, that her life wasn't over, that she didn't have to quit her job, that she would eventually be able to look Daniel in the eye again… she would have loved to tell Betty the pain would slowly disappear, and that she wasn't the silliest girl of the universe.

She had been where Betty was now, and she had cried and she had been heartbroken, but she had survived. And every time Betty had been there for her. She felt helpless not being able to be a sister to Betty when she needed one.

And no way she could return to the Gionista forum and tell how awful Betty felt. She totally regretted having posted that part about Betty sleeping with Daniel. Her excuse was that she had totally needed to get that off her chest. And who else were there to tell? At least she hadn't mentioned any names. It wasn't like anyone could identify Betty and Daniel…

Gio eased his mother's worries as soon as they got back the internet connection. She hated that he was away for Christmas. It was the first Christmas any of her children hadn't been home. She was sappy and sentimental, and he smiled at her worries – and loved being loved that much. He wrote her a letter from the heart, for her eyes only. Nella would have to open it and print it out and all that, as his mother didn't believe the internet was come to stay. She didn't bother to learn all about it, as it would disappear soon anyway. His mom hadn't believed in mobile phones or CDs or flat screens neither. That technology couldn't compete with real phones and LP's and the good old Panzerschiff Pontempkin TV sets. Gio loved his mom.

He should have logged off after sending that mail to his mother. But Gio was just human. He found the gionistas. Surely they couldn't be talking about him on Christmas Day.

They were.

And they were discussing the sister of SandwichGirl's, who was celebrating Christmas in Paris with her boss. The heading hit him in the gut like a wellington, and he couldn't stop the first tears.

"_My sister slept with her boss."_

The whole saga was displayed over five pages. Still no follow up from Hilda – Sandwich Girl after the first few. Gio didn't need an update. He could visualize what had happened.

This was it.

Finally. At long last he got it. No hope. No hope at all.

"Some Christmas present!" he mumbled and logged off. He would not visit the gionistas in the near future. No need to. He had to move on.

_**Chapter 14. The Prince and the Maiden, a fan fic by GirlNextDoor **_

It was a post from the infamous board that got her started writing.

GioRomance: _"Hey,listen up Gionistas! I urge you to get over to and check out the HK fics. If you haven't seen it – Woostersauce has set up a community for Gio fics there and there are lotsof stories. But like Licia says we always need MORE. Now is the time to check it out._

_Since we got the verified Gio sightings with that tall blonde Swedish girls that looks like an actress the fanfic productivity has gone through the roof. And some are hot…sizzling hot and spicy!"_

So Betty checked them out and blushed, soles to hair roots. She bravely read it all. And , , did she blush even more!

They were hot. Too hot and too spicy. They didn't cover her emotions at all. He had to feel awkward over all this. He wasn't at all the guy they made him out to be. He was a very private guy. Not promiscuous as – the writers obviously wanted him to be. He was a little shy. He was no trouble maker even if he had said what he thought after having been provoked on that silly, silly TV show. In real life he was well spoken, he thought things through before he spoke them. He followed his heart. Oh sweet Coco Chanel, did he follow his heart!

She had blown everything. He would never want to talk to her again, and he was in his right to feel that way. He had moved on. He had that bright, super intelligent, movie star beautiful girlfriend with a degree. Anna. Gio and Anna. That was a song title. Frank Sinatra could have done a song named that. They were classic. Two beautiful people. Chemistry at work. Boy meets Girl. True Love. And all that taking place on the South Pole! They'd get such headlines, they'd beat any other Big News Story; the assassination of JFK, Brad Pitt marrying Angelina Jolie, Barack Obama speaking to the people in Chicago as he knew he was elected president. Gio and Anna were that kind of news.

Besides it wasn't like she would be able to talk to him the next months. The Gionistas seemed to know he wouldn't be home any time soon. February could have been a light year away. She couldn't phone him and ask him out for a vanilla latte or whatever. She couldn't spill her heart out over a café table.

But he had at least once visited this forum. If the universe was totally against her, he'd been here lately as well – and he'd seen Hilda's "My sister slept with her boss"-thread. Fact is, he could return. She clung to that very fact. And she could leave a pattern he knew was hers – and she could only hope he followed. As Betty would really want to tell him how she felt – just now. About him. About everything.

"Once upon a time there was a prince who saved a young maiden from humiliation and loneliness. Let us call him Gio. Gio is a nice name. It suits him. Even princes sometimes find titles annoying and want to be like everybody else. Let us allow him this luxury we all take for granted. This prince came from the Land of Kitchens. He had a special talent with food and he loved to cook and see how his delicate dishes could make people happy.

Let us not speak her name out loud. It is better if we leave her covered up by a veil of anonymity. Let us just call her the Maiden. She was a very young and very confused woman, far younger than her years. She was very clumsy rag doll in a world inhabited by porcelain collectibles. She didn't need to open her eyes to know she didn't fit in. She had never fit in – and she desperately wanted to belong, to be envied, to be looked up to, to be loved and admired. She had always said she was content with what was second best, as she knew she wasn't a top league girl. She never cast a glance at the top notch guys. Why would she? Why bother? They didn't see her? In fact she was scared they would see her, as she didn't know how to handle the pretty people.

As everybody thought she was different and strange, she made herself even more different. She dressed as if she were color blind, she refused to change anything for the better, she put on makeup with one eye closed, and as she saw little without glasses, it didn't really matter much anyway. She was used to seeing herself as a defect doll, as ugly – and she was used to the reactions that caused. At least she got some attention, an attention warmed, no matter which wrapping it came in.

The prince had grown up in exile, estranged from his kingdom. He had in fact grown up in the Maiden's neighborhood. Everybody knew him as Gio. Cool Gio. The rascal kid. The naughty boy with an attitude. The girl magnet. But somewhere along the road he had grown up and become Gio, the man with the big heart.

The Maiden didn't know this. She was a very foolish girl.

They met by accident. They looked at each other and the air sparkled and sizzled. The Maiden picked a fight with him, because he confused her. He was charming and handsome, and even if she recognized something familiar in him, she didn't dare believe he was anything more than a pretty face and a great body and that smooth tongue that turned her dizzy and flushed and seduced her and scared the hell out of her. She didn't believe he truly saw her and liked what he saw.

How could he?

Fate or pure luck or the angels of heaven must have thought they had something special, as by accident they ran into each other all the time. Gio joked, and the Maiden laughed. How could she not?

There came a day when they had to agree they were friends. The Maiden liked that. She didn't have many friends. She had problems trusting people. It was hard for her to believe that someone liked her. Throughout the years people had always liked everybody else better than they had liked her. The girls at school were all prettier than her, they understood the social rules, they understood the boys – they were popular, and the Maiden knew she wasn't like them. Her sister was prettier than her. She went out with boys and was popular, and the Maiden knew she was nothing like her sister.

The Maiden was way into her twenties before she had a boyfriend. He was the first boy to ever look at her, and the Maiden was overjoyed. Finally a boy saw her. He liked her. And she liked that he liked her. She liked that so much that she told herself she was in love with him. He maybe wasn't the handsome prince she had visualized in her dreams, but when she looked at her image in the mirror, she could see that she wasn't prettier than him. They came from the same league. She told herself she was happy. And maybe she was.

Then she met the White Knight. He was a picture, but she didn't fall for his shining armor or his well toned six pack, broad shoulders or muscular chest. She didn't fall for his handsome face or wide smile. She fell for his kindness, for his shyness, for his nerdy clumsiness, for his insecurity that mirrored hers. She fell for his thousand ways of showing her he adored her. The White Knight was a doll man, a boy captured in the most gorgeous body any young maiden could imagine her longing body pressed up against. The Maiden loved just looking at him. She loved dreaming of him. She loved how he would wrap her up in his arms and they would hold hands and stumble forward in life, they would try to reach farther than none of them dared go alone. The Maiden needed the White Knight, and the White Knight needed her. They were two halves that made a whole.

It was perfect.

The Maiden often told the Prince how perfect her White Knight was, how perfect the love they shared was, and she never realized the sadness in Prince Gio's eyes when she spoke of her one true love. Gio listened. He made her baguettes the way he thought she should have them. He made her baguettes the way she wanted them. He made her black and white cookies, and he listened. He always listened, and she took that for granted.

Then the Evil Witch arrived. She wasn't just any witch. She needn't cast a spell over the White Knight. All she had to do was look at him with big blue eyes and tell him she carried his child under her heart.

Oh, the Knight, he was so eager to do what was right. He wanted to do right by the Maiden, and he wanted to do right by his unborn child, and he wanted to do right by the Evil Witch, who happened to be his former sweetheart.

The Prince celebrated the Maiden's 24th birthday with her. I was meant to be her best day ever. She had planned it down to every last detail – but the White Knight, who was supposed to celebrate with her, was lured away by the Witch. She wouldn't allow him to leave her. It could have been the saddest moment of the Maiden's life hadn't the good hearted Prince turned up with his horse and carriage. He gave the Maiden his affection, he gave her fireworks, and she was safe and relaxed – but the stars Gio thought he saw reflected in her eyes, weren't the same stars reflected in his. She didn't even see his love and concern. She saw the friend.

The Maiden had never had two suitors before. She just didn't understand what happened. She wasn't prepared for this affection, for the emotions that turned her life upside down. She had never known feelings so deep, so passionate, so tempting – so scary.

The Maiden was a good person. She tried to be just as kind as the Knight. She tried to like the Witch, but they had nothing but the Knight in common. He loved his son as the Maiden knew he would. She saw what a great father he would be, given the chance. Still he bent down on his knees and offered her a ring and his heart. The Maiden was tempted, but in her heart she knew she didn't love him the way she was meant to love the man who was right for her; the one, the guy, her prince.

All this time Gio was the Maiden's rock. He let her lean against him, he listened to her. He cheered her up. He joked and made her smile. He persuaded her to try new things. The Maiden wasn't known to be a risk taker, but Gio challenged her and the Maiden found herself leaping into the wide world – and enjoying it.

She broke with the White Knight. She couldn't be his one. The life he was offering the Maiden, wasn't the life she had imagined for herself. There was so much undone ahead of her. Gio had opened all doors and pointed at the possibilities waiting for her – in all directions. She adored him for his gentleness. She adored him for his sense of humor, for his seriousness, for his passion and for his friendship. She told him everything.

And then the Prince kissed her.

It's never like that in real fairytales. It's the Princess – or the young Maiden, who kisses a frog, and the frog transforms into a dashing Prince who sweeps the Maiden off her feet into a whirlwind romance that not even the gossip magazines manage to track before they're off on a honeymoon to the Caribbean or Tahiti or the Maldives.

The Prince kissed the young Maiden. He took her completely by surprise, and she turned into – a frog. Not that you could see her transformation, but her heart somehow changed.

The Maiden hadn't thought of Gio as a Prince, she certainly hadn't thought of him as her Prince of Hearts. The possibility scared her. Being with Gio meant having no places to hide. She would have to face all her insecurities, all her fears. She would have to boldly challenge every day and squeeze the most out of it, and that wasn't how she was used to live. She was careful. She didn't want to jump in on deep water. She didn't want to risk everything before she knew the outcome. She didn't want to be hurt, and giving too much of yourself meant taking the risk of being hurt.

He should have dealt with her fear, but he asked for it all.

He wanted her. He wanted her whole heart. The rest of her life. He called her his one. He offered her his heart. He asked for too much. He wanted to sweep her away from everything safe and take her on the travel of her life. Just the two of them. He was willing to trust her. She didn't dare to trust him. She didn't understand the strength of his passion. She couldn't understand what he saw in her. Why was he willing to settle with her? How could she care for a man who didn't want anyone better than her? What was wrong with him?

The Maiden told him she didn't feel the same way about him. She didn't love him. She told him to go on his travel alone, and he did. And she went on her travel – and she didn't miss him, as her days were filled with fantastic adventures. She challenged herself, she challenged her own fears, she climbed mountains she hadn't known existed.

She slowly started to feel – not beautiful, but pretty.

Slowly she started to feel she deserved the best. She wanted a Prince, and as she still was a very ignorant young Maiden of little life experience, she didn't understand she had already met a real Prince. She started looking for Princes in the limelight, on the red carpet, in fancy restaurants and clubs, on stage and in newspaper gossip columns.

She wanted a Someone. A Someone whose light could shine all over her and make the beautiful people look at her and envy her and recognize her.

She thought he maybe was an aspiring artist with an extraordinary talent, but she was wrong. He didn't see her as she was, and she was blinded by who he wanted to be. It wasn't True Love. He wasn't the One. He wasn't her Prince.

She thought he maybe was a successful businessman who knew all the rules of the world and could buy everything he wanted. He was gentle and sweet and she knew him better than most people. He was handsome and charming and possessed many of the qualities she knew her Prince had to have. He treated her like a princess, and she for a moment saw that princess in the mirror, but when he kissed her, when he held her in his arms and made love to her, she didn't remain this princess. She still had that frog heart beating in her chest, and she slowly realized that neither fame nor wealth could give her what she longed for and needed.

She allowed herself to remember the many moments with Gio. She remembered how he made her feel – and she had grown up enough to understand she had never been more herself than with him. At the time she had not understood the importance of feeling at ease with another person. She had not valued the conversations they had had. She had not seen how he slowly made her dare more, how she thrived in his company, how she cared less about other people's opinions when he was around. She hadn't seen that he helped her become independent.

She recalled every moment spent with him, and every time she looked back, she unclad yet another detail. His royal stature shone through. The young Maiden realized the Prince had walked by her side in many of her darkest moments. He had saved her from humiliation, he had teased her, he had comforted her – and he had loved her.

Why had she not seen him as he was?

She had made up her mind about him – she had seen the uncertified cook with no aspirations, no real future. She had seen his jeans and tees and leather jackets and decided his dress code was too humble for her Prince. She wanted a suit and tie-guy. She wanted a guy with an office or a name people she didn't know would be impressed by. She wanted to be the wife of. That was her innermost daydream.

The Maiden was ashamed. She told everybody she was competent and wanted a career and that she was a modern girl, but her infantile fantasies were all about being a kept woman.

The Maiden grew up overnight.

She had kissed enough frogs.

At last she knew the identity of her Prince.

This is a fairy tale with no happy ending. There will be no '…and they lived happily ever after…'"

She uploaded the story without spell checking. She published it and logged out. Betty wasn't sure, but she believed she had just started her writing career.


	11. Ch15, Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend

**When Hell Freezes Over, chapter 15, Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend**

It was the second most humiliating morning of her life. Boxing Day,2010. Betty wasn't sure whether she would be able to celebrate Christmas ever again. Bears were lucky. Maybe she could hibernate over Christmas next year?

"I don't want you coming with me to the airport," she told Daniel.

He tried to spoil her. As if he could make it up that way. He wanted follow her to Charles de Gaulle - and she could barely look him in the eye. It was weird. Betty realized that Daniel of course had some experience with similar situations. It wasn't like he never had said good bye to a one night stand. Most of his relationships had been one night stands. If you could call one night stands relationships. Daniel would, of course. Betty's definition was somewhat different.

"I can't just send you off in the car," he protested.

"Isn't that what you usually do?" Betty asked, sending him a sad glance.

"Don't let this ruin our friendship!" he begged. "I want us to stay friends. I don't want to lose you from my life. You're far too important to me, Betty. We have too much history… one slip, one mistake can't destroy that!"

They should have given that a thought the night before Christmas. They should have done a lot. Except the one thing they did. Betty tried her best to escape the pictures she got in her head. That was easier said than done.

"Umm, Betty…."

"You said?"

"You know, Betty…"

She wished Daniel wouldn't say her name over and over again. She didn't want to be reminded of who she was. She would have preferred to be just anyone else but Betty Suarez today; heck, she could even have stomached waking up as LiLo or Naomi Campbell. That would have been an excuse to throw some tantrums.

Daniel made another honest approach. "You know, Betty, me and you, you know – we did…ummm… what we did, and I've been thinking, should there be, you know… like any … umm… I'm not skilled at this, am I?"

"No," Betty said, not intending to help him move one inch.

Daniel bravely filled his lungs with oxygen. "You know, Betty, should there be – unwanted results… not that they necessarily would be unwanted – the results, but you know what I'm saying, right?"

His ever so helpless blue glance made her nod. He tried to tell her she could get pregnant. As if she didn't know. She had thought of little else since she woke up yesterday. And today. She had dreamt of a baby. She didn't want to go there.

"If so, if there is a – result," Daniel said hurriedly, not willing to say the word _baby_. "You know I want to know, as I'd like to be there with you, you know – I don't want you to be on your own. You shouldn't have to make decisions alone. No matter what you do – if there are results… I am there too. Is that clear, Betty, huh?"

"You're saying that if I get pregnant by you, you want to know, and you will help me decide whether to keep the baby or not – and you will be there no matter what I do. Is that what you're saying?" Betty wanted to keep things straight. She didn't want to wrap reality in pink. Not anymore. She'd done a lot of that all the way. Look where that had brought her!

"Umm, yes. To put it short," Daniel blushed. "I realize it is your choice in the end, but I would like to be a part of it. Should it happen…"

"You want me to abort a possible child?" Her brown eyes met his blue. His fled within seconds, then they drifted back, were filled with questions she wasn't able to answer.

"That's not what I'm saying!" Daniel protested.

"You want me to keep a possible child - a possible Daniel III? You are paying for an abortion or you will give me jewels? Like in a diamond mounted on a ring? I'd like to see you face _Papi_ to explain it all to him in either case…" She wasn't smiling, but the mere thought of Daniel passing this information to her father, created a lot of pictures in her head. Filmed, some would call it a tragic sitcom. The morbid among the audience might even laugh.

"I could do both." Daniel paced restlessly all over the suite. He did anything to avoid looking at her. "I could even take that conversation with your father." He did his boyish grin, but this time it wasn't calculated. "I'd prefer long distance call, but I could gut up and do it man to man. Don't know if I'd still be able to reproduce after that, but if there already was an heir on the way, I might not need those balls in the future…"

Betty couldn't help smiling. Just when she was able to be angry with him, he showed his helpless side, and her heart weakened. Daniel wasn't just that playboy and media mogul people saw – he also was a warm and caring person who slowly was learning to deal with all sides of adult life. Soon he'd be able to function without a personal assistant who handled his personal life. She feared he'd never be able to handle his business life without a PA.

"I could marry you," he stated I all seriousness.

She gave him the get-your-act-together-glance.

"I could marry you today," Daniel said, still honest. "And you know I drank nothing yesterday. I'm serious here. We can do it – today. I'll buy a Cartier ring. Diamond if that's what you prefer, or whatever. You decide. I'll find someone to marry us. That conversation with Ignacio would be a lot easier if I have already made you an honest woman, I tell you, Betty!"

She sat down. "You realize this is the least romantic wedding proposal of mankind, Daniel?" she asked.

"I …umm… can be romantic," Daniel stated. "I just thought you would prefer it …umm… realistic, pragmatic. We could solve a lot of problems, don't you agree?"

"All this because you don't know what to tell _Papi_?"

He was uncomfortable. "I think it would be the right thing to do. I wouldn't mind being married to you, you know, Betty… we for the most get on together. No unpleasant surprises. And we would be great parents, don't you think? I wouldn't want to see you raise a child on your own, not if it was my child – not if it was any other guy's child. And you would never go through with an abortion…"

Betty shivered. Daniel knew her too well – and then again, he didn't know her at all. Of course she would keep the child, should there be any, which was way too early to say – she thought. She wasn't sure how early those pregnancy tests gave you the answer. She would have to ask Hilda. That was her field of expertise. She didn't want to think about it.

"That is all very sweet of you, Daniel," she sighed. "But I could never go into a marriage without – love. And there is no love – no love like that, between us. It's a fact."

He looked all goofy. For a moment Betty feared he did host feelings for her; deeper feelings – like love. She was afraid she had crushed his heart – and that was something she didn't want to do again. Once was enough in a lifetime. She wasn't a ruthless, uncaring person. She totally wasn't. And she would lose her plane did they drag out this conversation. He might want her to stay for as long as planned, but she had to go home. She needed her family. Family was the most important around Christmas time.

Daniel squatted in front of her. He grabbed her cold hands.

"We're pretty fond of each other, Betty. We're great friends. People marry with less than that in their luggage, you know. It could work. I can give you the world…"

"There might be no baby," she reminded him.

"We could still be married. I feel comfortable around you." He smiled and softly caressed her hands with his thumbs. "We're not just friends, you know. Not just workmates. You might not call it love, but it's something more than work and friendship. It's way more. You totally turned me on. I turned you on. You can't deny that. It can happen again." He gave her a slow smile. "The sex was hot. You have to admit that. It was passionate and wild and hot, Betty. We know we are extremely compatible in bed…"

She hadn't thought she would ever discuss this with him. Her body went hot. He was right of course. The sex had been hot and wild and passionate – what she could remember of it. She remembered more than she would admit to Daniel.

"It was the champagne," she explained. "And a marriage isn't lived only in bed, Daniel. This is not a good idea. I really have to go. I'm going home to America. I can't stay here, you know I can't. Don't try to persuade me…"

Another slow smile. "I could kiss you. You wouldn't be so persistent if I kissed you. There would be fireworks once more. Passion and heat and hot, hot, lovely steaming sex…" His voice turned ever so seductive.

Betty freed her hands. She leant backwards as he tried to come closer. His lips parted. Betty could taste the kiss that hadn't yet come, and she literally crawled out of the chair, over the back and hid behind it, as the passion Daniel showed spooked her silly.

"I'm going home, Daniel." She mounted all her strength. "And even if you are right – to some extent… it was all that, Daniel. All you said and then some, but it just isn't enough. I can't help it. You know, I can't fool myself endlessly, can I? I can't live without love. And Daniel – I don't love you the way I must love the man I can – the man I hopefully will marry one day."

He bent his neck, still squatting. "I could have sworn you know who that guy is," he said, defeated.

"Sorry, Daniel," said Betty and left him. There really was nothing more to say.

In the car on her way to the airport she for a moment felt so alone that she texted Hilda. _"Daniel asked me to marry him." _

"He what?" Ignacio asked and pressed his left palm to his chest. There was no pain – yet. He just was prepared. "I have feared this moment," he continued. "The moment Daniel Meade would claim my daughter for his. Now we have lost Betty, Hilda. That Meade family will swallow her and one day they will spit her out – and she will no longer be our Betty!"

"Papi! You're such a drama queen!" Hilda waved a hand from the wrist. "Besides – I thought you liked Daniel? All that man to man. All that _'he's like the son I never had'_. Yeah, right! I think we should be happy for Betty!" She didn't add _relieved_, though she did think the word. She'd been worried sick since Betty told her she'd slept with Daniel, and spilling it out on the Gionista forum didn't really help. The proposal however, was something totally different. She could tell her family about it. "No wonder he whisked her off to Paris." Hilda saw everything in a new light. "That is so thoughtful. So Daniel, if you ask me. Of course he'd take her to Paris to propose. How utterly romantic isn't that? I so wish I could meet a guy with that much money. Mind you – he could take me to like Boston to propose, and I'd call it sweet."

Ignacio reacted with horror and disappointment. "He didn't bother to ask me for her hand. I had thought better of Daniel Meade. He must know how much that would have meant for me…"

"You're just an old fashioned man, _Papi!_" Hilda smiled warmly at her father. "Nobody does that these days."

Justin tried to stay calm. "You sure that is what Betty said?" he asked numerous times. "You sure it happened – for real? Because, Mom, quite frankly, you and Aunt Betty aren't like 100 percent reliable at all hours."

Hilda had to let her son read Betty's text message, and even then he wasn't convinced. "Yeah, well it says Daniel asked her to marry him…" Justin's brows disappeared under his hair. Hilda made a mental note that she had to cut his hair. If her son looked like a hobo, who would like to come to her salon? Justin might not be aware of that, but he represented her business when he was out and about. Teenagers just didn't think! Or when they did, they only thought of themselves.

"… we don't actually know whether she accepted or not," Justin added. "And if she's coming home – like _today_, from _Paris_, city of _love_, freshly engaged – _leaving Daniel behind_… well, then I know nothing about romance!"

"You know nothing about romance! You're a teenager!" Hilda laughed and rolled her eyes. "I know romance! Oh, we have so little time! We must prepare."

Her father and son looked at her, silently questioning what on earth she could have in mind.

"Well, we have to organize a little party, right? We have to celebrate! She's _engaged_, right? Even if you're not jumping with joy, _Papi_, we should show her we're happy for her."

"Shouldn't we like wait till Daniel's back too?" Justin asked.

"Well, maybe he will be," Hilda argued. "She doesn't say he isn't. Maybe they're all on their way here to celebrate the engagement – Betty and Daniel and DJ. That would make sense, huh? An engagement party for New Year's Eve! Oh, it will be so great! Do you think we should call Claire and invite her as well?"

Ignacio cut it off with a simple, "No, Hilda!"

"We don't know when she'll be back." Justin counted, lifting up a finger, then another. "Two, we don't know if Daniel is returning with her. Three, we don't know if they really are engaged. Four, we don't know if they want to keep it a secret…"

"Betty wouldn't have told your mother had she wanted to keep it a secret," Ignacio mumbled.

Hilda could see they made sense, but she wasn't willing to let go of the happy feeling. "Spoil sports," she sulked. "I intend to decorate a little around the house. You do what you like!"

Justin and Ignacio exchanged glances as Hilda fled.

"Don't see any spot there's left to decorate," Ignacio smiled.

"I can make a banner," Justin said. "But it's merely to please Mom."

"Anything to keep Hilda calm – please!" Ignacio sighed. "I'll make some cupcakes. They're not too festive."

"You reckon I should put 'welcome home and congratulations!' on the banner or just 'welcome home!'" Justin wondered.

"A simple 'Merry Christmas!' would be the safest," Ignacio said. "But that won't please Hilda. Use your common sense, Justin – Betty will be pleased no matter what the banner says. I reckon she has missed us. Proposals or no proposals. Christmas should be celebrated at home, together with your loved ones."

Hilda was annoyed. The men of her family were so silly and stubborn. She would have loved to throw a party for Betty. It would have been such a surprise for her when she opened the door, suitcase in hand, and all her friends and neighbors were gathered to greet her. Hilda's heart warmed by the mere thought. Then again – Betty had travelled all the way from Europe. It was a long flight. There was the jet lag to consider, and the time difference – and Betty couldn't have slept much these past days. She might need to calm down and sleep a little before she was ready to party. But the news was too huge to keep without sharing. Hilda was a sharing person.

SandwichGirl wrote on the Gionista board. New issue: **Diamonds are a girl's best friend**: _"I'm soooooo happy, girls! It's totally awesome. My sister's boss has proposed. In Paris! Can you believe that, girls? It's totally romantic, and I am so happy for my sis. She totally deserves a good man, and he is a good man. Hey – he planned all this – a romantic Christmas in Paris – including an engagement ring! I am so looking forward to seeing them both – and the ring. First things first, right girls? *ha ha* Just had to share with you. Now off to plan welcome home party. Nothing big – they'll be all jet lagged and tipsy on champagne. They do serve champagne on those overseas business class flights, right? Girls – I'm smiling from ear to ear!"_


	12. Chapter 16, Controlling Fate

**When Hell Freezes Over, ch 16:**** Controlling Fate**

Betty drafted the letter somewhere over the Atlantic. Business class was quiet that early Boxing Day. That was before Justin's well meant colorful and sparkling banner in the living room:"Welcome home future Mrs Meade!" Before waving her naked left hand in front of her family's surprised faces. Before _Papi_ sighing (in relief?) "I told you so! Betty has her head on her shoulders!" Before Hilda apologizing in a tsunami of words. Before Justin removing the banner.

That was before the pregnancy test in a supermarket toilet. Where else could she do it without anyone (read: her folks) knowing the next second and spreading it all over the internet? She sent a cell phone photo of the stick to Daniel. Major mistake, of course, as that was a totally foreign language to him. He immediately rang her – she hadn't even moved out of the stall and was terrified someone, anyone, stranger or no stranger, would hear her.

"I see what it _is_," he whispered from Paris. Betty thought she detected fear in his voice. Reality obviously had struck. High time! "But what does it mean?"

"Negative," Betty responded, ever more paranoid. The public toilet had been a stupid idea.

"Negative," he echoed from Paris. Relieved.

"No need to worry," she explained in case he needed it even clearer. She heard him pull his breath, but stopped him before he could follow up. "Listen, I can't talk right now. Just wanted you to know, as it's … well, as it concerns you as well…"

"Ummm, thank you, Betty. I think so. How do you feel about it all?"

"Fine," she said. "Bye, Daniel!"

They weren't trapped for life after all. Strangely that disappointed her a bit – but sanity kicked in. She went home and found the draft. She spent an hour making it perfect.

"Letter of resignation."

Not many lines. It was addressed to Daniel, but it wasn't really a letter to him. It was to him and to the whole board, to the entire Meade family, to everybody at Meade, really, as no doubt, they would all get at chance to read it.

In short, she resigned from the day her vacation was formally over. She had worked so much unpaid overtime over the years (see documents 1-178 on enclosed CD) that she legally could do so and still be paid by Meade's. Was that however inconvenient, she would simply do by leaving and remain being unpaid for all that overtime. She fully understood she made life a bit difficult for Daniel (Mr. Meade she called him in the letter, how strange that sounded and looked!) but she would like to draw their attention to Marc St. Pierre who would make a perfect replacement for her. (One PA Daniel – Mr. Meade, for certainly _not_ would sleep with, she sadly thought, slightly embarrassed she thought just the way the real Mr. Meade did when he gave _her_ the job as Daniel's assistant.)

She went over to Mode's, one last time, the letter and the documentation of her overtime still on her memory stick. She didn't have a printer at home. It was quiet everywhere, only security giving a breath of human life to the building. Betty greeted them with the same joy and bright smile she would have given them had it been an ordinary visit.

"But aren't you in Paris, Miss Suarez????" they all met her with,

"Slight change of plans," Betty explained, still smiling, jaws aching so much she wasn't sure she'd ever escape that blasted, over fake grin. "Family situation," she added in a lower voice, making sure they never came with follow up questions. Oh, she was good at this, too good. She didn't like the person she was becoming. It was high time she started a new life, high time she found the path intended for her from the start.

She printed out the letter, copied the documentation needed to a CD, slipped both into an envelope with Daniel's name on – "Mr. Daniel Meade", and put it in his in tray. No such drama as placing it in the middle of his desk to assure it was the first thing he saw when he returned from France. Next Betty cleared her desk and deleted all the personal nonsense on her work computer. Of course someone from the IT department for sure could bring it all back to life, but she had done the polite thing. She shredded silly notes she'd kept and had so little left of what she wanted to keep, that all fit into her bag. It in fact looked normal. No one at security had the slightest idea she was leaving the building for the very last time. She gave her office – and Daniel's office a last glance over her shoulder, but that was it. The lobby of the building didn't make her that sentimental. She closed the door, knowing she also closed a very important chapter of her life.

It was time to do some real writing.

Christmas came and went. Man could survive despite his heart being broken once again. Anna went. They had known that would happen. Her contract ended in January. Gio had somehow made that to be the end of January, not the beginning. Things didn't really turn out like in his head. They still were friends. They had known this was no lasting relationship. He guessed that if they met back in the real world, there could still be a possibility of hitting the sack. It wasn't important at all.

Anna had found Hilda's post on the silly, insane-women-going-totally-wild forum. Anna had – under doubt, shown him what Hilda wrote – what they all wrote, for that sake. He had only been interested in Hilda's part. She was the one in the know.

Betty and Daniel were getting married. Why else would Daniel give her a diamond ring? They were engaged. Daniel, the blasted rich spoilt heir, had popped the question to her in Paris, probably right after he'd seduced her with too much champagne and sordid sex – which Gio really, really didn't want to imagine, but vivid, colorful pictures turned up in his head, and he feared he could have made a career as a porn producer. Everybody knew how Betty was like after too much to drink, and Gio would guess she was ever so easy to move over after some endorphin moving horizontal exercise in addition to the bubbles. Didn't the man have some pride? He must have known Betty would say "Yes! Yes! Oh sweet yes!" after a treatment as described.

Gio knew he would have done the same in Daniel's shoes. Heck, he should have done the same when he had the chance. He never should have taken her no for a no. He should have pushed her to go to Rome with him. He should have kissed her every chance he had, as he remembered how his (all too few) kisses made her weaken. He should have caressed her and whispered sweet words into her ears in Italian. Hot breath and Italian was a sure winner, always had been. Had brought some knickers off the speed of light – as far as he cared to remember. But he, the good damn silly idiot all too much in love, had wanted things to be different with Betty. He had wanted to be honest with her. No tricks. No playing games, no fooling her into doing things she didn't want to do. He had wanted to play it totally straight with her. And man got fooled when playing straight. Harsh learning from the real world. He should have forced her to go away with him, never caring what her family would think. And he should have toasted her in Italian wine, dining at small _trattorias_, feeding her sweet Italian cakes by hand, making her lick his fingers, making her see only him, making her want only him – and then, at the top of the Spanish stairs, he would have gone down on his knees and popped the question, presenting her with a ring. Some ring. No diamond, obviously, but he would have made her feel it was a special ring, the only ring, as he would have made her feel he was the only man for her. The one and only. And Betty would have smiled dizzily and thrown herself at him, her arms locking around his neck, and she would have yelled out:" Yes! Yes! Oh sweet yes, Gio! Yes, I will marry you!" Of course all that would have followed an intense, sweaty night of especially hot love making in that top notch hotel…

All the things he should have done!

"Now you know," Anna had said. "It's official, right? She's totally out of your reach, Gio. Learn to live with that."

"She has been out of my reach for long," Gio had commented, mouth so dry one would think he'd chewed cotton. "I am living with the facts, Anna. What do you think I am doing here?"

"Escaping," she analyzed, hitting the sore point spot on. She had to be great at they never had tried that. He could have teamed up with her for a sure win. A man should never have a rebound girl who was more intelligent than he was. "You need to get back to the real world, Gio my dear. You need to go somewhere you actually risk meeting her. There you can learn to live and function –and heal. You're not healing here. Not one bit." And she had smiled that knowingly smile, that Anna smile he actually adored – and sometimes hated, as it was a sign she saw right through him, she knew him better than he knew himself. "I thought you were healing, hunny," she had breathed close to his ear – and by God, it worked on him as well – hot breath and sweet words was a sure aphrodisiac as far as he was concerned, he was that simple! He had allowed Anna to seduce him. She was good at it, oh sweet honey, oh sweet bees who made the honey, she was in the top league when it came to seducing him! She was brilliant at everything she did, and she knew it – plus she wasn't shy when it came to using what she had. Had she proposed and presented him with a ring afterwards, he most likely would have sung the Yes-song.

Afterwards she'd said it was over. As in totally over-over. "I'm starting to feel just a little too much for you, Giovanni Rossi," his rebound Anna had confided. "And you know, that isn't good for me. I don't need distractions in my life. When I settle down with a man – _if_ I ever do, he must be ready for this kind of life – for me being away for six months, a year at a time. He must be ready to share me with this – science, as I don't think I can ever give it up. He must be ready to accept there won't be any children – not till I'm past forty anyway…" She had looked at him – knowing. "You are not that man, Gio. You want a career, I know, it's important to you – but like so many men, you want it all, the career, the woman of your life – children, a family…"

"That's the life I come from," ha had told her, hearing it sounded like an apology, and he didn't want to apologize for what he wanted.

"We're not compatible, Gio," Anna had said, with a strike of sadness, "except for in bed. But I still want you to heal, my friend, my very best friend. I still want you to get over her – and heal. Because somewhere out there is the right woman for you, Gio, she is waiting for you to come along. And when you find her, when you realize she is the one, your heart must be healed. You must be able to open every door for her and show her what a wonderful person you are. You must get over this Betty Suarez woman, Gio! She isn't good for you. She steals your energy. And she belongs to another man. They are engaged to be married."

Anna had been real harsh about it, and Gio knew she was right. Betty Suarez wasn't good for him. He had to get over her. He had to get on with his life. Move on. He had to learn how to breathe freely, how to move about in NY without looking for her everywhere he went.

They asked him to renew the contract at the station, but he couldn't sign. He had to make a contract with himself. A contract to heal and become a whole man.

Betty knew she rocked the whole family. She gave them worries, and especially _Papi_ didn't need worries. She was afraid his poor heart would break – literally, and she daily reassured him she had plans. She hadn't thrown a good job into the drain just to wait tables – even if that was what she did while waiting for the answer to her application.

Daniel tried to contact her, of course. He did it all, from phone calls, text messages, emails, banging her door – not that he needed to bang it much, as Hilda, Justin and even _Papi _were all too eager to let him in once they realized he was standing on their porch. He was treated better than the lost son from the Bible every time he came over, but she never agreed to speak to him. It was infantile, but she locked herself into her room and refused to see and speak to him. In the end he took the message.

He paid her all the overtime she had documented – and then some. She couldn't complain. He behaved as the boss from heaven. And her entire family gave her the _"you-have-so-gone-totally-out-of-your-last-wits" glances. _Even _Papi_ started talking about how she could do a lot worse than marrying that nice Daniel Meade. "I have been wrong about that boy. He obviously loves you a lot…."

Which was all very good, but Betty didn't love him back. Not like that. And she wasn't to be emotionally blackmailed into a marriage, no matter how solid and right it appeared to her father.

"You can't just live like this!" Hilda tried to reason with her. "Waiting tables at that nacho place and doing nothing else, Betty that is no life. That's not you!"

That came from Hilda. Betty gave no response – other than an eye roll.

At last the letter came. Then she told them.

"I'll be back at uni," Betty said, waving the letter of acceptance. "I'll be studying journalism. I intend to be a real writer!"


	13. Chapter 17, Hot Stuff

**When Hell Freezes Over, ch 17: Hot Stuff in Antarctica – and Beyond…**

The Change started with Jamie Oliver. Gio had, quite frankly, thought the famous cook would never come way down south after all, that it all had been a hype when Gio&Anna were hot news. They certainly weren't that now. They weren't Gio&Anna. When Jamie Oliver contacted him once more, he told that right away.

"Guess you want to come here to show gorgeous Anna and you and I cooking in the background, but Anna is back in the States and we're no longer an item. So I guess it's all off, then?"

But this Jamie guy proved to be bigger than that. He said he sure would have liked beautiful Anna in the picture, but no, he actually wanted to come to see Gio. To cook with him.

"Cooking in Antarctica! Hey man! You don't need good looking women to complete that picture, Gio! And, hey – your story! I want to hear your story while we cook. I understand your roots are Italian. I love Italian food! Passionately!"

Gio had to admit he shared that passion. They chatted for almost an hour, not mentioning even one woman with a syllable after the first lines when Gio confessed to be single. He looked forward to Jamie Oliver's visit. He didn't care that his mates at the station teased him in all friendliness for his ability to attract the limelight and attention. He decided he didn't mind the attention.

That episode of Jamie's cooking show became one of the most viewed ever in Britain. It immediately sold to the US, to the rest of the English speaking world, to Europe. It was spread (slightly illegally) via internet. It was like a contagious illness, and there seemed to be no vaccine. "Hot Stuff in Antarctica" the episode was called. The title was well chosen. Viewer ratings hit the roof.

Jamie and Gio laughed and chatted like two mates who hadn't met in a long time, they cooked Italian food the way Gio's Mom and aunts had done – and taught their daughters and nieces to cook, not really noticing that the most interested student was Gio. A man shouldn't really cook.

Jamie and Gio sipped wine and cooked and tasted and spoilt the crew at the station with large portions of hot Italian stuff – followed by tasty Italian wine, espresso and sweet Italian ice cream – home made. Jamie had brought all the ingredients, special delivery straight from Italy. The picture of the two of them, all dressed up in thick winter clothing, making them resemble snowmen (only red and blue such) stirring the ice cream outdoors, was TV cooking history. Viewers could practically watch the cream freeze to ice cream. The duo looked like little school boys as they watched in utter fascination.

"Usually this takes like hours!" Jamie explained the viewers and lifted the bowl close to the camera. "Here it takes minutes – which is why it's so darn important we constantly stir, right? Your turn, Gio!"

Gio accepted the bowl.

"Making Ice cream on the South Pole!" Jamie couldn't help laughing. His face was red by the cold or exhaustion or enthusiasm – or all three, helped with the red jacket he wore. "I must say, it feels a little like bringing sand to the Sahara!"

By the time Gio returned to the US, he was again a celebrity. He could have lengthened his contract, but he decided Anna had been right. He had been escaping. He needed to learn how to live real life. Again. Without Betty.

He and Jamie had a plan. But he couldn't mention that.

Gio talked about just about everything else the weeks right after he returned. He gave more interviews than he cared to count. His mother kept a scrap book, but she wasn't able to keep up – she tried hard, but she didn't manage to set hands on every print of everything he'd ever said (or not). Still it kept her busy, and she didn't nag him about how he had been so stupid that he had lost that sweet Anna girl. She didn't mention grandchildren.

He was on Letterman.

The Gionistas filled ever more pages of drooling over him on the internet. Gio didn't see that with his own eyes, but Antonella had eyes. She found that revolting, but gave him daily updates on what went on there. She lurked the forum as _MyBrother'sKeeper_, and not even one of the mad women suspected she had any connection to him. She even took part in discussions and pretended she didn't really like "_that Gio cookalike_" much.

He was invited to visit the new group at "Hell's Kitchen", and even if Chef Ramsay insulted him every time he opened his mouth, Gio felt the difference from when he was part of the show. Now Gordon was on his side. Gio actually called him Gordon without being spat at. He gave good advice to the poor, struggling and ambitious few who were left. The girls didn't really listen to his advice. They wanted to hear all about Anna and the love story from the ice. The fellas wanted to hear about Anna too. They weren't really interested in romance, but tried to make him drop other details about her. Gio was too much a gentleman to please any of the groups, but they all forgave him.

Chef Ramsay offered Gio a job at his NY restaurant. Gio thanked no. No way he would ever work under Gordon ever again. No offence!

He of course wanted to cook. He realized that was his passion in life. But the job offer he accepted wasn't in cooking. It was acting. Tina Fey rang out of the blue.

"Is this Gio Rossi?" the female voice asked.

"Yeah, sure is."

"_That_ Gio Rossi – the Polar Chef?"

"In person and speaking!" Gio confirmed.

"Wow! This is Tina Fey…"

"Yeah right!" Gio laughed and hung up.

She rang him again. "This _IS_ Tina Fey…"

Gio hung up again. Did those women believe he was a total fool? Tina Fey was the sex symbol for men who could read without moving their lips. Why on earth would Tina Fey phone him? Why would any woman think Tina Fey would phone him? Why would she think he would think Tina Fey would phone him?

"Don't you hang up on me again, you little sexy turd!" she yelled when he answered her third attempt. "This is Tina Fey speaking, and if you hang up on me again I will never phone again and you will miss out on the funniest job you've ever had!"

Gio listened. After ten minutes he was convinced he spoke to the real Tina Fey. At least he was pretty sure he was not speaking to Sarah Palin.

"I want to give you a recurring guest role on _'30 Rock'_" Tina said.

She sure knew how to rock a man's existence.

Gio Rossi became Juan Hernandez, an aspiring cook who was thrown out of a cooking reality show. Not very unlike real life, except his character was Latino, not Italian. Juan Hernandez worked as a chef at the lunch place that Liz Lemon, Tina Fey's character on _'30 Rock'_, usually frequented. Very soon Juan became Miss Lemon's passionate love interest. He became a very interesting character – especially to female viewers.

Gio didn't mind. His character wore an open shirt at least once in every episode he was part of. He walked about in boxers only, or he was in the shower, and the camera caressed his wet body, head to foot soles, extremely slowly. But it was all neat and arty – the heat and steam made the view blurry, and only his mother was offended by all the nudity.

Antonella assured him the _Gionistas_ loved it. The more skin he showed, the better. But Tina didn't like them to cross the fine line to where it all became vulgar.

"It has to be done with taste, Gio!" she taught him. "One day Liz will of course kick you out – you are after all only a love interest, my dear. It's not like she is the President and you're her VP, we're not stuck with each other for the next four years, for heaven's sake. You're her boy toy for as long as you amuse her. For as long as you amuse me…"

Gio understood. It wasn't that far from real life, after all.

Gio was on Jimmy Kimmel.

"What on earth made you accept a role as an older woman's _callboy_?" Jimmy provoked with his usual big grin.

Gio lifted his right index finger. "Now, now! I wouldn't call Tina an older woman, Jimmy!"

"She's older than you, isn't she?"

Gio looked into the camera, those brown honest eyes seemed to meet every female viewer's glance out there in TV land. "Slightly, Jimmy. Slightly."

"Is it a job for a real man to pose shirtless in every episode you take part in?" Kimmel pushed, his eyes narrowing, smile reaching ear to ear.

"This naked chest pays my every bill, Jimmy," Gio said and tore his shirt open – buttons dropping like heavy rain.

The women in the audience – they were slightly in majority, screamed. A few stormed the stage, adrenaline pumping, making them almost scary. One managed to caress Gio's smooth chest and belly before security dragged her off his tanned body. She clung on to a part of the shirt she'd managed to tear off.

"Is is a job for a real man," Gio said smiling broadly and got to his feet to remove the torn shirt. He rolled it to a ball and threw it towards a group of women at the back. Riots broke out. He threw them kisses and dried his sweaty forehead with his hands, carelessly combing his hair with the fingers of his right hand. The black hair followed orders for twenty seconds. Then it all fell back in place, a strand dividing from the rest, making him totally irresistible.

More screams.

"…and you know, Jimmy," Gio continued, "every guy knows there is nothing as tempting as a sexy woman in power – do call her elderly if you want to, I'd choose other words… as sexy, experienced woman who wants you…If you don't react to that, well, then you're half way dead, my friend…"

"You sure Tina won't write in an elderly brother of Juan's?" Jimmy asked. "You have totally converted me. And you know – we look much alike, you and I. I could easily pose as your older handsome intelligent brother José, the brain surgeon."

"Brain surgeon?" Gio rolled his eyes.

"Award winning brain surgeon," Jimmy Kimmel dreamt on. "He visits his kid brother, Juan, and instantly Juan's woman throws her eyes at José and lusts for him. Some women are like that, my brother. They want everything – and they are completely ruthless. They toss away good things if they think they can have something better. "

To prove his point, Jimmy threw off his suit jacket. He removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. The audience went wild. Gio laughed so much that he cried. Jimmy wriggled out of his shirt.

"Could Liz Lemon resist this body?" Jimmy asked. He pointed at Gio. "Is there really a competition?"

"YES!" the girls in the audience screamed. "Gio! Gio! Gio!" they chanted as Jimmy Kimmel embraced Gio and thanked him for being such a great guest.

"I take there will be no hard feelings when I replace you at the show?" Jimmy asked.

"No hard feelings at all," Gio assured him. "But cover up your goodies, please, Jimmy! There could be children watching!"

"Disgraceful," Betty mumbled and switched off the television. Luckily she was in her own apartment. She was sure Hilda watched. She was sure the insane women watched. She would not log in and read what they said. The forum had to be burning. They'd soon have the no shirt sequence on YouTube. She could wait for that. She would load down. She had no shame.

The _Gionista's _forum went wild_. _Gio's appearance on Jimmy Kimmel was the ultimate hot stuff. Not a seat was dry. They all invented new adjectives to describe that naked torso. Within half an hour the first photos of the event appeared on the site. They were copied and discussed and keyboards were malfunctioning, coast to coast, caused by heavy drooling.

Gio was invited to Oprah's. She admitted to totally adore him.

"And you are still single?"

"Still single," Gio leaned towards her, lowering his voice. "You still married, Oprah?"

She melted – and she was a woman of power. She'd created bestsellers simply by mentioning books she'd read and liked. She had helped a man get elected into the White House. She was the ultimate slightly elderly woman in power.

"If you ever decide to leave your man," Gio said, "I want you to promise me I am the first person you phone." He gazed into her eyes and looked like he meant every word. Oprah was charmed. She giggled like a teenager, and you could see she really didn't want to throw him out of that sofa, but the advertising break came – and Gio was gone when the show continued. A lot of women all over America switched off.

Betty watched. She melted just as rapidly as Oprah. And she stared at the blank pc screen. She had a project paper to write – but so far hadn't come up with a theme. And time was scarce. Maybe she wasn't a writer after all? Maybe she had done something totally stupid when she left a great job to study?

Days rolled by. The _Gionistas _still sang in lust and joy. They created poetry – and no poetry. But they were enthusiastic – to say the least.

Betty struggled, but she wouldn't admit it. She insisted she was healing. This project was part of the process. A theme had appeared, not quite out of the blue. She'd written the title page: _**"Female Internet Interaction. Fan Forums: Modern Friendship or Superficial Mass Suggestion?" **_

Among the forums she analyzed, was the _Gionistas_' such. Of course. She had read absolutely all posts. It was research. Science. Whatever. She had ideas on how to attack it all, and now she was posting a request, asking if any of the members – any of the _gionistas,_ were willing to let her interview them on their experiences from the forum. She didn't expect they'd accept, not the most hard core of them, anyway, but it was worth a go.

She couldn't use her old name from the forum – she created another alibi from her new email address, _Journo2B_. Not even Hilda would recognize her.

"_I'm a media student doing a survey on female interaction on internet, and I would be very grateful if any of you girls would agree to answer a questionnaire re your experiences from this forum. Later I would like to interview a few of those who answer the questionnaire. I assure that all of you will be 100% anonymous. Please PM me if you feel OK about taking part. Thank you in advance!"_


	14. Chapter 18, Analyzing Gionistas

**When Hell Freezes Over, ch 18, Analyzing Gionistas**

_The Gionista forum_.

The new member, _Journo2B, _wrote:

"Here's my questionnaire. I hope you will respond to it as honestly as you can. If you have to lie, it is better you don't answer. I will use all answers in my project, but I of course guarantee anonymity. A bit later in the process I will ask some of you if you will allow me to interview you. You may answer all or only some of the questions.

Why did you sign up for this Gio-obsessed forum?

How old are you?

How much time do you spend on the forum per day?

Do you regard your activities here pure entertainment or do they run deeper?

Do you consider the group members to be friends?

What do you usually discuss here – strictly Gio-related issues or personal problems?

Is this a secret activity or do your family and friends know about your internet habits? If yes, do they approve?

Do you consider yourself addicted to checking the gionista pages?

How do you react if you aren't able to log in daily? Weekly?

Are you a different person here compared to the woman offline? Are you better online?

Do you easily obsess?

Is TV vital in your life?

Would you describe yourself as a social person?

Do you feel you know Gio?

How important is it that Gio knows about this group? (Do you really want him to read what you discuss?)

Is the interaction between you gionistas more important to you than it would be to actually meet Gio?

Thank you in advance for responding!"

Betty didn't expect much. She didn't really understand the interacting in internet forums. What she had seen in these pages mainly scared the wits out of her. The passion was so wild. There were few grey zones. Things were black or white. You were with these mad women – or you were not. She wasn't sure she was totally with them. They had no idea she'd been a passive member for a long time. To them she had to be branded a _lurker_. She probably was.

The girls weren't sure what to say or what to do. _Cookie73_ told, in not so many words – though colorful, that she was not interesting in leaving sensitive personal information on the net – for that unknown _Journo2B_ and other possible criminal lurkers to analyze for whichever dodgy purposes.

_GiosLover_ was sure this was a _JuanLizious_ who was infiltrating their pages, trying to spread the evil gospel of their group. As fond as the _Gionistas _were of Gio, they wanted the natural guy (they wanted him _au naturel_ too, but that was another discussion – see thread "_Nude_ _Gio_") – they adored the cook, the real guy who wasn't pretending, they adored Gio Rossi – the character Juan Hernandez gave them a chance to see more of him (literally), but they didn't want him to be stuck on _'30 Rock'_. They wanted Gio to have his own show – shirtless, nude, in boxers, all dressed up (not all the time, heaven forbid!) – they wanted Gio. They wanted to see him develop his special talents. They wanted to see him cook. The _JuanLizious_-shippers, on the other hand, were happy to see a talented cook give them more or less silly lines on screen once a week – as long as he wasn't too heavily clothed. That was the difference between intelligent women adoring an intelligent, capable, talented man and slightly brain dead groupies who only saw the muscles and flesh and didn't care that on top of that delicious body sat a clear mind, a bright brain. As _GiosLover_ stated, _"Gionistas and that Juanlizious-bitches have nothing in common!!!!" _

Betty rolled her eyes. However, the negativism didn't last, which surprised her. She quite honestly hadn't expected the _Gionistas _to be a friendly bunch, eager to help an outsider, a lurker. They were.

Of course Hilda was part of the turnover. _SandwichGurl _was enthusiastic.

"Well of course, Journo2B, I will help you. I so know how hard you students are working with projects and what not. Have just done my nails, here might be typos, but here goes:

I would not call myself obsessed, but I joined because I'm one of the few here who in fact know Gio. I was one of the original girls here, you know. We wanted a place to talk about Gio.

I don't want to talk about age. Age is just a number. I am past my teens, but still in my prime – and I will always be young at heart. Duh!

I don't spend much time here, I do have a career, you know. I have a child to take care of. Teens cost money. I'm very young to be the mother of a teenager.

Deeper? Isn't entertainment deep enough for you? You students sometimes make us real people seem stupid. My sister is just the same. She studies, you know. First college student in our family. Persons with no degrees can be deep too!

Sure!

We talk about it all! But I don't want to load down the other girls with my personal problems – I'm not the one who's always venting here.

You think I would need to come here if my family and friends knew about this? Hah! I so can't mention Gio at home. My father would think I had a thing for him and would probably push the poor thing to marry me or something. And my sister! Don't even get me started!

I'm not obsessed at all.

I'm totally cool about it.

And I'm not pretending. I'm always me. That's the great thing about us _Gionistas_ – we are always better!

I have never obsessed. Except maybe once in junior high. Was this guy – but you don't want to hear about him.

I'm not addicted to TV, but of course it's always on in my household. Mainly because my father likes to watch _telenovelas_. But me, I'm not addicted.

I am a very social and likable person. Everybody says I'm very social. Always have been.

Smiles! OF COURSE I KNOW GIO! I have dated Gio, didn't I tell you?

I hope Gio will never visit these pages ever again. YOU DON'T NEED TO READ THIS, GIO HUNNY!!! If you're lurking here, log off – if not, I'm not responsible for your burning cheeks, babe!

The friendships here are most important. I have met Gio, remember? And in all his sweetness, he actually isn't better than all the dolls here. Honest!

And, Journo2B – I am totally willing to let you interview me. Maybe we can meet over a coffee some time? Or maybe you need a makeover or a hairdo? I have a beauty salon, and I could give you some %s off. It would be interesting for you to talk to some of the original girls, right? I promise I will keep your anonymity too, _chica_!"

Hilda didn't convince Betty. And if the other _Gionistas_ were dealing with truth the same way Hilda did, she wasn't sure how accurate and honest and real her findings would be. She would simply have to trust the girls – and she had to include Hilda in her project, no matter what she knew about the validity of Hilda's responses.

Truthful or not – Hilda was the beginning. The mad girls sweetened. They responded in a serious way. They wanted to help someone they suspected to be a lurker. They were careful – but once they started replying, Betty got wonderful answers. _Dolores Dickinson_ was there. The new girl, _Emerald_, who was only 15, entered. The chick with the hearts framing her name, _Dolly,_ responded. _barmars531, Licia, mrsgrl, Cutie, ten, JusticiaCee, Chicago Gal At Heart_, - even _GrannyBeth _and _Cookie73_ decided to crawl out of the woodwork and spill out their hearts. Betty missed _GioRomance _though. And there was not a word from _Nadie(who_ _was Laura)._ Maybe she could PM them. Maybe they would rate her pushy.

The lot was surprisingly normal.

OK, so she had been prejudice. She'd pictured human barracudas, low on intelligence, too much time on their hands, scarce social life, not much to brag about, faking brilliant lives online to virtual relations, handcuffed in front of the TV set, over sexed, drooling over Gio, seeing him mainly as an object to their sordid lusts – and no, she didn't want to follow that path!

OK, so she'd been wrong!

They were all ages – teens to granny age. Betty wasn't sure what she thought of the latter. She had a flash of Papi visiting fan pages for Jennifer Lopez, and somehow that didn't taste good. And wasn't that young and blushing a rose – Gio had to be younger. The _Gionistas_ had lives. Hilda wasn't the only one with a career. They had families and friends and a social life. They weren't even that hooked up on TV. Something about Gio had tingled something in them – and he'd become a hobby for them. They had at some point wanted to talk about him, and their surroundings didn't care, didn't have the know-how to discuss – the girls had found each other online. They had talked Gio. And they had continued talking Gio – and added quite a lot of other subjects as well. When Gio disappeared from the TV screens, when he left civilization, you'd expect the possible issues they could talk over, would dry and disappear – but the Gionistas had continued to meet and talk.

Other shippers tried to insult them. Dolores D (or D as people often called her) got a not so subtle line slapped up her face: _"You're actually passive-aggressive and mean(in your own subtle way) like the rest of them." _

D immediately embraced that as a compliment and included it in her banner. That was a true Gionista, if you ever saw one.

Betty was slightly impressed. She would have to write something about the icons and banners in Gio's honor. The girls colored their identities with pictures of Gio, with quotes, with artwork including both. She would have to include the fan videos and fan fictions. Her project was slowly becoming more "Gio Rossi internet mania" than the title she'd originally chosen. Betty didn't recall what it was and had to dive into her pile of paper to find it.

"_Female Internet Interaction. Fan Forums: Modern Friendship or Superficial Mass Suggestion_?"

Right.

The _Gionistas_ regarded each other as friends. They even embraced the lurkers. Well, thank you! And Betty was surprised to see that a majority of them had problems when it came to picking which was more important; meeting Gio or the interaction between the girls. She'd expected the lot to jump screamingly at the choice "meet Gio!!!!" _mrsgrl _rated the Gionistas as family. Betty highlighted that. She obviously had to be one of the extreme hard core girls. She would have to be studied closer.

Not many said they easily obsessed. If they did, they did in good taste. Now – that was a matter of definition. Betty did an eye roll. Of course there were a few wackoes among them. She wasn't sure about that _JusticiaCee _– she could hear the marbles rolling free there, and that was putting it nicely. Same Cee also admitted to easily obsessing and shamelessly mentioned she'd been a part of David Duchovny's _"Estrogen Brigade"._ Another eye roll. Betty wouldn't even open her mouth and get started, but she had her thoughts about that Mulder-guy. She wouldn't have allowed him into a room of young women only. Enough on the matter. She got pictures in her head that she sure didn't want to be stuck with. People should age with grace! Yuk! She shook it off – sort of…

Still on obsessions – Betty highlighted _Cutie, Chicago and Emerald_ – whose obsessions could be explained by their young age. One were supposed to obsess a little when a teenager. Not that Betty could recall ever doing that – but she wasn't a very obsessive kind – lucky enough! She highlighted and framed _Licia_'s name. She'd have to look closer at her – maybe even request an interview. Those would have to be done online anyway, as the girls were spread all over the US and the rest of the world. A few were situated in NY though, but Betty sort of got cold feet. She wasn't sure she dared meet any of the _Gionistas _face to face.

It was somewhat interesting to see that the older members seemed to cherish the friendships online more than the younger ones did. The younger girls would rather meet Gio, she saw. Well, the older _Gionistas_ obviously were in relationships, they had a special someone in their lives, by their table, in their bed – they knew Gio was a hobby, they didn't need the possibility of meeting Gio, of having him as a person in their private life. It would give them an instant kick if that happened, but they wouldn't break their stilettos trying to get close. Unless they were together as a group, Betty thought with a grin. She pictured Gio running ahead of a pack of _Gionistas_. That wasn't a pretty sight. But it made her smile.

Betty tried to make graphs showing the twisted minds of these women when she was interrupted by a PM.

_IcePrincess_ wrote: _"I am pretty sure you are Betty. If that is right, I would like to meet you. Am in NY today. Suggest a place for coffee. Anna."_


	15. Chapter 19, Meet Me in Hell's Kitchen

When hell Freezes Over, ch 19, Meet Me in Hell's Kitchen!

"I had a different pictured of you in my head," Anna said, looking straight at Betty.

Betty had understood as much. She'd had to wave franticly at Anna when she entered the coffee bar. Anna was just like her photos. For a moment there Betty wished she hadn't accepted to meet her. She could have lied – she could have PM'd Anna saying she knew no Betty. Who would ever know? Anna could have suspected from here to Antarctica, she couldn't have been sure. But curiosity caught the cat, right?

Anna had looked at Betty in surprise. She had hesitated, but controlled herself easily. Gio obviously hadn't showed Anna a picture of her. Maybe he didn't have any. Betty recalled him taking all those photos with his mobile, but it was easy to delete cell phone photos. So far Anna had been even nicer than she seemed in all those interviews Betty pretended she hadn't read. But then – Betty hadn't really expected Gio to fall for a stupid, unsympathetic girl.

"He talked a lot about you, you know. I feel I know you – the way he sees you," Anna explained over a cup of plain black coffee and a blueberry cup cake. She wrinkled her nose at the cup cake, crushing it between her fingers. No manicure, Betty saw. She noticed these things – thanks to Hilda.

"Not quite Gio quality," Anna commented and made Betty smile. Not that Betty had tasted Gio's cup cakes. Anna's presence made Betty focus on all she didn't know about Gio. On all Anna knew. She wondered if Anna was furious. It would be a normal reaction. If anyone had drooled over Betty's boyfriend all over the internet – Betty would have been slightly annoyed. She felt a bit awkward seeing Gio as an object as it was. Anna had to feel some itch.

If yes – shouldn't that anger be directed at the Gionistas? Betty wasn't really one of them. She was a lurker… heck, Anna should have a fair idea who and what Betty was. Anna probably knew what Gio thought of her.

"He and I are over," Anna said – before Betty had a chance to polish the question. Betty blushed. She hid that sigh of relief. "You probably wondered," Anna continued. "I would."

"Well…erm…yes… So you're not seeing him these days?"

"No. Well, we talk. On the phone." She smiled. She was picture pretty. "Gio is busy these days."

Betty nodded. He had to be.

"And you returned with no diamond? From France – Paris, Christmas, your boss. No ring?"

"No - ring," Betty stuttered and hid her left hand. God, she was silly! Anna seemed to know Betty better than Betty knew Gio. That was alarming. But then again – her life was painted out all over the web.

"I thought that was common knowledge. My sister made sure of that. "

"Well – common knowledge. I don't know about that." Anna lifted a brow. "I don't think Gio knows."

Betty didn't want to think through that at all.

"You're back studying?"

Betty nodded. There was something very sweet about Anna. She didn't want to like her. Didn't want to forget she had been sleeping with Gio. Didn't want to think Gio had confided in her. But as her latte went cold, Betty couldn't help warming to Anna. And Betty talked. She talked about her dreams of writing. How she had always returned to that – to the dream from her childhood and teens.

"At some point it just didn't seem like a silly dream anymore. It was something I had to do. Now – or forget it."

"And it was right?"

Betty smiled. "I think it was, yes. I'm learning all the time. And I'm loving it."

Anna saw a glimpse of the girl Gio had described. She had expected a fashion magazine Barbie doll. Gio had described a glossy pin up. Or not. Gio had talked straight from his heart. Betty had transformed to that pin up in Anna's imagination. But how could she have known? She hadn't been able to picture Gio going totally bonkers over a plain girl. He wasn't that kind of guy.

But this was the woman Gio had obsessed over.

She had to be an awesome personal assistant, Anna thought. Former PA. Fashion mags usually liked to keep their glossy image. Maybe Betty had been stowed away in some dark office where she did brilliant work. Anna had struggled learning how to dress to show she was a capable, intelligent woman.

Today she had dressed to be totally different from a fashion doll. She wore jeans and her beloved moss green parka. In a way they weren't that different, she and Betty. They didn't consult Elle or Vogue – or Mode for that matter, before they dressed. Betty obviously was as green on what was in fashion as Anna was.

Betty dressed – like she'd run through a clothes' garage sale. She wore glasses with red plastic frames. The kind women wore with pride in the 50's and 60's. Hadn't anyone advised her to wear contacts? It was a rather sweet face behind those massive frames. She had good colors, good bone structure, no make-up, pretty hair – simply tucked behind her ears. And she was a colorful girl – full rainbow, no less!

She didn't possess that aura of self confidence that Gio had so much of, and Anna didn't quite understand how Gio had come to see Betty at all. Had she seen them together, she would have thought Betty was the one who obsessed over Gio – not the other way round. She would have believed Gio had dumped Betty – not totally opposite.

"So he talked?" Betty didn't want to ask, and couldn't hold back. "It's slightly unfair – you know a lot about me, and I know – little about you…"  
"I think he kept me in the dark too," Anna said, holding Betty's glance. "He didn't betray you, if you think that. I pushed him all the way, as he was so miserable, and the only way to get him back to a mood where he was bearable to have around, was making him talk. And he spilled his heart out – but he was very protective of you."  
Betty didn't want to respond. Her heart danced.

"He loved you a lot, you know, Betty."

She knew. Of course she knew. But she hadn't felt the same.

"I couldn't fake it," Betty explained.

"I know it wasn't really a relationship." Anna sipped her coffee. "He talked about it like you'd been together for years – and fact is, it was mainly in his mind…"

"It wasn't right," Betty said. "He's an amazing person. He's sweet and warm hearted and gentle. He's fun and a really decent guy – and he was so ready to jump into something dead serious. And – I wasn't…"  
"I know where you're standing, girl! That's my point of view too…"

"…but you and Gio…" Betty blushed, unable to say that Anna and Gio obviously had been enjoying each other big time – despite Anna being reluctant to a serious relationship.

"Gio and I had a fling," Anna said. "We had super sex…"  
Betty blushed.

"Sorry," Anna smiled. "You don't want to hear this. But then I think you need to know. If you are in doubt – let me just tell you that the guy is great in bed. Or wherever." She winked an eye naughtily. "And we became good friends. He's someone I want to keep in my life always – and I hope he one day settles with a woman confident enough to allow him to keep all his friends, yours truly included." She sighed. "As I fear he is so sweet he'd give up everything for the one he loves – and that would be totally wrong. One person can't fill all your needs."

Betty wasn't sure she could show anyone that trust.

"But Gio and I both knew it was there and then. Fun for as long as it lasted. And then we moved on. If he hadn't felt so strongly about you, the two of you could have had what we had…"

Her smile gave Betty an indication of what Anna and Gio had shared. She felt that green devil called Jealousy bite hard and deep. Still she wasn't able to dislike Anna.

"And heck – Gio is a man who loves women, and I was the only woman at the station…" Anna grinned. "You don't get much competition in Antarctica, I tell you!"

Betty was sure Gio would have noticed Anna in a crowd of thousands. Gio loved women.

"Have you ever had – erhm, flings in places like that before?"

Anna laughed. "Actually, no. But I've never met anyone quite like Gio out in the ice before. I have never been tempted. It's something about him, don't you agree?"

Betty nodded – against her will. "How is it?" she asked out of honest felt curiosity. "Living so far away from the world? In extreme cold – without having the slightest bit of privacy – with so many men around you?"

Anna pulled her breath – and then told Betty what she wanted to know. Betty listened. "Can I do an interview with you?" she asked. "Not about Gio. I won't mention Gio. I'd like to do a piece on you – on your life. On expeditions seen from a female angle. On your choices in life – why you became – interested in ice…"

"No Gio?" Anna asked.

"Gio who?" Betty responded and stretched for her notebook. "It's just for the uni paper, but at least I get some slack there – I'm the editor…"

Anna laughed with Betty. The interview was long and thorough, and it slid into a lengthy conversation. The two of them split up after six hours. They had exchanged phone numbers and email addresses.

"You should give Gio a call," Anna said as they hesitated to part. It was chilly in the street, November breathed ice.

"I couldn't," Betty said.

"I'm sure you remember his number."

Glances met. The brown strayed.

"He's kept his old number," Anna let Betty know in a low voice. "I think it's because he deep down hopes to hear from you…"

As if Betty could believe that!

"What would I say? And he's so busy these days. He's a celebrity now, and I'm just plain old Betty…"

"And you are supposed to be a journalist? You don't intend to interview celebs? I predict a short career here. Unless you'll specialize on interior or dogs…"

"Thank you. I needed that one!" Betty breathed some of that polar air. Anna didn't seem to mind. Probably was colder in Antarctica.

"Tell him you're doing this project," Anna suggested. "Worked on me."

"You never answered!"

Anna smiled big. "Now, that you don't know, Betty. You are not the only one out there in the web with more than one identity…"

"You didn't?"

"Might have."

Betty tried to remember all the answers she'd had to her questionnaire. She would have to reread them all and try to figure out where Anna had hid.

"Gio will help," Anna said. "He wants the best for you. And he will be curious. Aren't you curious – regarding him?"

Betty was.

"I might give him a call, but he's probably in LA, shooting the show…"

Anna lowered her voice: "Don't tell anyone – but I happen to know Juan Hernandez will suffer a riding accident and end flat out on his back in a coma. You can have people in comas for years – at least on TV. Gio's suggestion. He wanted to move on. He's over in Europe now – but he's back in NY Tuesday. Slightly jetlagged, I imagine. If you catch him then, he won't be able to say no."

"I don't want to ambush him…"

"I reckon he'll need some friendly ambushing," Anna concluded. "Ask how he reacted when he learned there was a fan site in his honor. Ask him if he has logged in – and lurked under --- say the alibi _IcePrincess_?"

"He has?"

"Ask him. Ask Gio."

Betty and Anna hugged. Anna whistled for a taxi. She disappeared minutes later. Betty watched the frosty shapes her breath made.

Gio was in Europe. Anna hadn't told why. He would do no more '30 Rock'. Anna hadn't told what he was moving on to. Betty hadn't dared ask.

"Ask him!" Anna's voice kept urging in Betty's head. "Ask him. Ask Gio."

New York was freezing cold. The French Riviera had been bearable, even in November. London, however, had been hostile weather wise. All dressed up for Christmas, of course, which had made him sad. The endless repeats of "Last Christmas" on every radio station didn't help at all. He'd stayed indoors and cooked. Minded his own business. He had spent lots of time in various kitchens. Made new friends. When cooking, you didn't need any other languages. Cooking was composing. Food was music. People everywhere understood music, they had to eat.

He had found his path.

He was going somewhere.

The first day back home had been switching on the autopilot. As much as he loved his family, they could stress you out. Their love could wear you down. But he had eaten and talked and laughed and eventually collapsed on the sofa in front of the TV. He remembered his mother waking him up, he remembered stumbling to his room, but he didn't remember hitting the sack.

_Mamma_ had given him a good scolding when he appeared at the kitchen table at 1pm. His breakfast plate was still there. She made him eggs and bacon. She heated the pancakes and had chilled blueberry jam to follow. He did listen to all she said. Something about flying all over the world, not remembering to take care of himself, and what was that nonsense about moving away from home? LA was far away, but she had accepted it – like any good loving mother would. It was a golden chance. It was a career for the few. But she had to speak up when he aimed to put a whole ocean between him and the family. What was he escaping? And no, she didn't want to hear the word_ career_ again.

Why couldn't he settle down like normal men his age did? Andrea across the street, Paulina's Andrea, already had four kids. Number five in the oven. His pluming business blossomed. He'd married sweet Gillian – and she was Irish, alright, but at least she was a nice Catholic girl. No nonsense with her – no careers and no children till she was 30-talk. Why didn't he ask any of the nice girls out? Italian, Irish – she didn't care. She just wanted grandchildren. Was that too much to ask for? Had she not been a good mother for him all his life? All she asked for in return, was a nice Catholic daughter-in-law and children.

Gio had promised _mamma_ he'd look out for a suitable daughter-in-law for _mamma. _

"First thing on my schedule!" he shouted over his shoulder as he left the house.

"You don't go and make fun of me, Giovanni! I have changed your diapers! I have carried you for nine long months and those two weeks you hesitated coming…"

She always brought up those two weeks past term when she was very annoyed with him.

There was a tiny restaurant in Hell's Kitchen Gio had wanted to try for months. They had quite a reputation, and even his European friends had heard of it. The waiting lists there were 6 months long – but Jamie had made some phone calls while Gio was still in London. Gio had a table reservation – a table for two, as he had wanted to bring his mother along, but sensing her mood this late morning, Gio hadn't dared ask her. Mothers should be handled with care. Love and care. He'd pamper her some other time. Roses on return, maybe.

He was a few blocks away from the restaurant when his mobile vibrated and tickled his chest. He reached for it and said "Hello?" His new celebrity status had taught him never to reply with his name. If some wacko had gotten his number – heaven forbid! – he could pretend he was someone else. "Airport Toilet, JFK," was his favorite. "God speaking!" in a low, deep voice also startled the easily scared.

He swore he recognized the breathing.

"Betty?" he asked – and actually held his breath. He stopped and was almost walked over, but didn't care. "It's you, Betty – isn't it?"

"Yes."

That one word. Betty's voice. Doubtlessly Betty's voice. She couldn't have married Daniel yet. He had tried to avoid all news concerning the Meade family. He still would have known had she married Daniel. That would have hit the headlines. Gio closed his eyes and remembered his mother's nagging about finding a woman who could mother _mamma_'s grandchildren. Fate was a harsh mistress.

"Hello, Gio!" Her voice trembled. She had some conscience after all. "Listen, Gio – I'd like to talk." She didn't give him a chance to answer. "I'm doing a project at university. I'm back at university. Well, I'm doing this project on women and internet and you probably guess where I'm going, don't you? Well, you're big on internet, right? And I have sort of interviewed the girls at the Gionista forum… you know – your fan base, the women who – adore… like…"

"…me," Gio saved her the embarrassment fulfilling the sentence.

"Yeah – you…."

"So – you've talked to my gals?"

"Uhm, yes. And – well, one of them suggested I should talk to you. Right? And I think they are right. I want to talk to you – about – uhrm – how you feel about that kind of attention and…."

"Yes," said Gio.

"Yes?" That was merely a whisper.

"Yes," Gio said. He was on fire and he couldn't let her know. "Now."

"Now?" Another whisper.

"Lunch with me," he ordered, tears flooding his eyes. "Little place in Hell's Kitchen." He gave her the address. "You know it?"

Betty didn't, but she reckoned she'd find a taxi driver who did.

"Some irony, huh?" she said. "Meet me in Hell's Kitchen? I'll be there."

He laughed when her voice no longer had a home in his phone. He laughed and cried and caught a lot of glances as he cried towards the concrete sky.

"Meet me in Hell's Kitchen!"


	16. Chapter 20, Hell Frozen

**When Hell Freezes Over, ch 20: Hell Frozen**

Gio waited for almost three quarters of an hour. Outside the restaurant. On arrival, he met a closed door. He banged it, and after several minutes a fellow appeared, opening the door long enough to tell they were closed. He pointed at a sign glued to the window next to the door, which Gio totally had missed.

"Pipes froze," the restaurant employee explained. "The whole block has the same problem. We don't reckon to open till Friday night – at earliest. You had a reservation?"

Gio nodded.

"I'll take your name, and you can phone any time after Friday and we'll fit you in any day next week. Will that make up for your inconvenience?"

Not really, but Gio said his name – and got a glance of recognition, but the guy was polite enough not to say _"oh, of course, that Gio Rossi!"_ They obviously had a celebrity clientele. Having that sorted out, Gio still had to wait outside. This was where Betty would come. He did some tap dancing to keep his feet warm. His heart didn't need any extra heating. His blood was steaming, he felt alive and tense and like thirteen years old. Not too many people were out and about. He didn't catch that much attention. Not that he minded. Betty would come.

She came on foot.

"Impossible to get a cab," she explained and had to fight a massive hand bag and a woolen scarf and her long hair that got caught in the shoulder strap and the scarf at the same time.

Gio felt he travelled back in time. Had to be only days since he last saw her, not years. He didn't think, he closed up on her, freed his hands from the gloves and helped her free that long, soft hair.

"I'm so clumsy," she said without thinking.

"You're not." She was still making apologizes where none were needed. His eyes fixed on hers. "Hello, Betty," Gio said slightly curling the corners of his mouth. "Long time, no see."

"Hello. Eh – ditto!"

He wanted to hold on to her. To fold his arms around her and hug her and never let go, but once the knot of hair and scarf and leather strap was loosened, he had no excuse, and drowned his hands into the jacket pockets. The cold gave him a perfect excuse.

Betty didn't want to push it. Yet it was like forever since she'd seen him, a hug had to be in place. She pulled her breath and did it. Back in time hugging Gio had been one of the easiest things to do. Present time: Awkward. Needless to say, she caught him with surprise. He took his time getting those hands out of the pocket. Once embraced, Betty felt comfortable for at least twenty seconds. Then she fought free.

"You shouldn't have waited out in the cold," she said and felt her cheeks blossom.

"I had to," Gio smiled. "Meant treating you with a lunch you'd never forget, but the restaurant is closed. No water. Pipes frozen."

"Hell frozen?" Betty smiled.

He responded with a big smile. He hadn't thought of that. He wanted to slap his head. This had to be fate kicking his ass. He'd big mouthed he wouldn't see Betty till hell froze over. Now here was a sign in big, fat fonts.

Hell had literally frozen over. A whole block of it. If he didn't make a move, he'll regret it the rest of his life.

"You'll have to do with the second best," he said. "We have to eat. We can't talk without eating!"

She allowed him to set standards. "We can't talk without eating. You are after all Italian!"

"Right! And the second best thing is me cooking. You still live on your own?"

That was Gio's subtle way of asking if she had moved in with Daniel. If she hadn't, there still was hope. All was allowed in war and love. This had to be love. There was no other word for the emotion that filled him, head to toe.

"Erhm – well, yes." Betty hadn't imagined he'd suggest he'd cook. Not at her place. She tried to remember if she had left stockings or bras where they shouldn't be. She tried to remember if the mess was the cosy style that gave a homely atmosphere or if it was plain, non Feng Shui-mess.

"I don't have a NY flat anymore," Gio hasted to explain. "I'm shacking up with my folks when in town. And you don't want to go there for a talk. No one of us would get a word in – my mother would dominate the conversation, I'm afraid. And she'd take over the cooking…"  
"And that is the third best choice?"

"We could of course find a simple lunch place…"

Betty understood he wasn't keen on that particular option. It hit her that his celebrity status had to interfere with his social life. People noticed him. It was different now. In the past some people noticed him because he was charming. Women looked at him like women always looked at handsome men. They still did, no doubt. But there had to be people who stared at him because he was _that_ Gio Rossi.

"You have an oven?"

"I have an oven," Betty said. "I don't use it that often. Papi sometimes does. He comes over and cooks for me – to make sure I eat. Like that ever was a problem!"

"You have an oven," Gio said, holding his tongue. He wanted to tell her she was wonderful. She looked like a million dollars. To him she always had. There might come a moment where it would be right to tell her what he saw when looking at her. Now – well, now he was happy to share her company. "I bet you also own an empty fridge, right?"

Blushing, Betty had to say he was right. "I never seem to find time to cook," she apologized.

"We'll just have to stock up for a perfect winter lunch," Gio suggested and touched her elbow.

Amazingly enough Betty let her arm slid under his. They walked together, and people who saw them had to think they were a couple. Like ordinary couples they chatted about things that didn't really matter, but it wasn't bad. It was reality, and it just wasn't bad.

"You still live here?" Gio was amazed to see she took him to the address he'd been lured to visit those years back.

"I still live in this dump, you mean?"

He had thought that.

Betty locked him in. "It's what I can afford right now," Betty said with a shrug. "Students can't be picky. But when I accept that Pulitzer… now that will change my address!"

"Student?" He had to look at her – not that he needed an excuse, but this was questioning.

"I went back to uni," Betty smiled. "I'm learning to write."

"Really? You left _Mode_?"

"Yes." She didn't go deeper there. "I'm doing a project paper, you know. On women and internet and …"

"Me."

Gio gave her that broad smile that made her toes curl and left goose bumps all over her body. He left the shopping bags on her table, opened that thick jacket and parked it over a chair. The knitted hat followed.

More goose bumps.

"Buzz cut," Betty breathed. "And it's not yet summer. Your skull has to breathe in winter as well?"

He grinned at her, happy she remembered past conversations. "It's convenient when cooking," he told her, a hand touching that ultra short hair.

She liked it. He didn't look like Juan Hernandez. He didn't look like the guy from Hell's Kitchen. He didn't look like the Polar Chef from Antarctica – with his arms wrapped around Anna. He looked like Gio – her Gio. At least he looked like the Gio she had used to know – with the additions a couple of years lived to the max add to your personality.

She got out of her coat and scarf and extra jacket. Why hadn't she dressed with more care? Why hadn't she paid notice to the pictures in the last issue of _Mode_? Frankly she had no idea what was in, and after Christina left _Mode_, she didn't really have a personal stylist at hand.

Gio looked great in jeans that fit him all too well and a simple wool v-neck in black. She liked him in black. He was a no frills kind of guy. Betty was glad to see all that fame hadn't changed him.

"So, are you gonna stare at my skull forever, or do you own some pans and knives and bowls?"

Caught staring! Betty closed her mouth. He had to think she had developed backwards in time. She found all he asked for, and he rapidly put her at work.

"There must be a slight cooking gene in you, babe," he joked. "I know your father can cook!"

She proved to be her father's daughter – to the point where she was able to chop onions and celery and squash.

"You're my kitchen mule," he said with a wry grin, when she made a complaint about the chopping.

Betty accepted. The onions made her eyes water. That would have been a disaster had she been one of those women wearing mascara.

Gio fried sage in her largest saucepan. He removed them when crisp and let them rest on a plate covered with kitchen paper. He cooked the chopped vegetables and herbs, making sure he stirred all the time, then added the colorful orange squash and chicken stock. He'd just walked into a restaurant kitchen and asked them if he could buy some decent chicken stock – he was cooking for a woman and wouldn't be caught dead using the stir-with-water-blocks. They recognized him. He spoke the kitchen language – he'd left with a grin on his face and a bucket of fresh chicken stock, top restaurant kitchen quality.

"You can open one of those bottles of red now, babe," he suggested once she had no more chores.

He had insisted on buying two bottles of wine. She had thought it was a bit extravagant, but didn't want to argue with him in public. Strangers had given them enough looks as it was. Betty was used to glances – when she had followed Daniel to work dinners, people always stared. He was a local celebrity. But this was different. Gio had reached the A-level. And he was Gio. She was shopping with Gio. She was walking with Gio. She waited for a cab with Gio. She didn't want to stir any more attention.

"All cooks like a sip of wine while cooking." Gio winked his eye at her. "At least this cook does. Join me, huh, babe?"

His _'babe'_ gave chills down Betty's spine, but she realized he probably said it to all his kitchen mules. It didn't mean she was special.

She didn't pour much in the glasses. (Why hadn't she bothered to buy something more decent than cheap IKEA glasses?) He accepted the wine after slicing some ciabatta and drizzling the slices with olive oil. After a mouthful he grated Parmesan and patted it to each sides of the bread. He quickly fried the cheesed bread until golden. The smells embraced them. Betty had never felt more at home in her own apartment.

"Admit it, you enjoy cooking!" Gio teased her.

Betty nodded. She enjoyed cooking – with Gio.

He let the soup cook, and whizzed it with a hand blender (Betty didn't own anything as extravagant as a liquidizer).

"It's OK with some chunks," he shrugged. "We still have our own teeth, right?"

They still did. She laid the table. He poured the soup after carefully seasoning it. He placed two croutons on top of every bowl and sprinkled with the crispy sage before swirling a little olive oil over.

"Babe – it's served," he said and pulled out her chair.

It couldn't have been better in a restaurant. He made sure there was wine in their glasses. And he didn't expect her to keep the conversation going till after the first bowl was downed.

"I'm still an eater," she laughed.

"I like that," he stated. "Every cook likes to see people enjoying his food."

"So you're a cook – more than an actor?" Betty asked.

"100% cook. It's like your writing, I guess."

Betty could relate to that.

"Acting is fun. It has given me freedom. You wouldn't believe what they pay you to throw off your shirt and memorize a few lines."

Oh, she would! Worst was she thought he was worth every dime they did pay him.

"Quite some spare time as well," Gio added, rolling his glass between his hands. "Didn't need an extra job – so I have trained with some amazing chefs in Europe. I have written a cook book – on Italian food. '_Mamma's way'. _Basicly on how Italian women, my mother's generation, here and in the UK and in Italy – cook. Not entirely my idea – co work with English cook, Jamie Oliver…"

"You two hit it off, huh?" Betty asked.

"Hell's yeah! You saw us on TV?"

She had already made him understand she had. No need to say she hadn't.

"Uhum."

"He's just as cool as on TV," Gio told with enthusiasm. "You know – I could probably make that ice cream for you now. It's that cold outside."

"Except we don't have the ingredients," she reminded him. "I can do without ice cream, Gio…"

She'd finally said his name. He let it ring in his ears.

"Another time," he said. She didn't say there would be no other time.

"So what are your plans?" he asked in a casual way. "A journalism degree – then marriage and blessing the world with new little Betties and Daniels?"

She blushed, but lifted her left hand so he could see it – her naked left hand.

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed there is no ring," she said. "I have noticed your glances."

She couldn't have noticed all his glances, Gio thought, but immediately confessed that he had looked for the ring.

"I heard about Paris," he said and held her glance.

"Didn't everybody?" Betty's voice was trembling.

"Seemed to me it was everything you had ever wished for. You and Daniel always were – close."

"Uhum." Betty didn't know how smart it was to pour out her heart at this moment. Last time she told Gio how she felt, he'd practically stormed out, telling her she'd broken his heart and that he banned her from his life. But this was a different Gio. An older Gio. She was a different Betty.

Time had made her wiser.

"It wasn't quite as Hilda edited it," she finally said. "She wasn't there."

His brows rose.

"It was – the trip to Paris," Betty admitted. "The French Christmas, the suite, the posh hotel, the champagne, the sex, the proposal."

Gio could picture the story she presented to him. He hated the plot.

"And then the awakening," Betty continued. "I can't marry Daniel. I can't be in a relationship with him. That feels – abnormal. Like we were brother and sister. And I knew it was my chance to move on in life. I quit the job. I started studying. That's where I am now. Here. In this crappy apartment, enjoying life as a student…"

His hand somehow crossed the table. Two fingers softly touched her fingertips. They didn't escape. He was encouraged. Seconds later his hand covered her. Their glances were locked. Betty smiled. How could she not?

"Babe," Gio said. His chest tightened as he looked into her eyes. He reminded himself he was a grown up man, not the unsure boy out on his first date. In situations like this, a man kissed a woman. His glance touched her lips. He hesitated – and lost the moment.

Betty blinked. She pulled her hand free. It felt awfully cold when he no longer was touching it. She got to her feet, escaping those dark brown eyes. Gio still had the tempting appeal of a cuddly puppy. He made her heart beat, he made her feel vulnerable and young and hopeful. He mixed all those emotions, and she knew she was falling, but she wasn't sure she could allow herself to do that. So much was at stake in her life. She couldn't look at him, and found herself staring out of the window. There was nothing to see.

Gio followed her. He could think of dozens of reasons why it was the right thing _not_ to do what his brain and body shouted at him to do. Gio knew what he wanted to do; he wanted to lean her up against the window, then let his body melt into hers – never caring what the neighbors thought. He wanted to open her flower pattern blouse and slide his hands from her waist to those magnificent breasts. He wanted to kiss her until they were both breathless and fiery with needing each other.

He hesitated.

He didn't know what she wanted or expected – and he had scared her off before, just because he had been too pushy.

"Babe," he whispered.

She slowly turned to face him.

Gio stepped another step closer to her. He framed her face in his hands. Exercising more control than he'd imagined he possessed, he dropped a light kiss on her forehead. He wanted her a lot closer than that. A _lot_ closer. Touching her like this revved his heart like an engine, turned his bones to liquid.

"Gio!" she breathed.

"I have never wanted a woman like I want you, Betty," he confessed with a whisper.

She could escape. She could pretend she didn't hear. She could tell him they could not rush. She could make up lots of excuses. She could demand they analyze it or they might end up hurting each other.

She wasn't up to hurting him. And she didn't believe he would ever hurt her. There had been too much talk between them in the past. Without a word, Betty walked into Gio's arms. His hand claimed her waist. She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his cheek, inhaling faint traces of his cologne.

For a long moment they didn't move. They simply stood locked together. Then they moved – it was a dance where she maneuvered him to the bedroom, not even giving the unmade bed a thought. She inhaled the scent of his skin and loved it. Betty's head moved and her lips were against his cheek. They wandered till her lips met his. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her fingers trembled as she tried to open his belt buckle. She failed.

"Ooooh," he breathed. "I didn't think you were interested in me this way!"

"Oh, but I am," Betty confessed, breathing the words into his mouth. He let them fall into her bed, and he was clumsy with the blouse buttons.

"You don't have to pretend to be clumsy," she breathed.

"You make me." He continued struggling.

She laughed, releasing some of the tension that had built.

Gio couldn't resist kissing her, letting his lips linger at the corner of her mouth. "Oh Betty," he said. "I'm not going to hold back this time…"

Betty pulled his head down and lightly breathed in his ear, teasing him, feeling a shudder of pleasure ripple down his body. "Don't," she said. "Don't hold back, Gio!"

His hands slid along her body and stopped just beneath her breasts. She drew a sharp breath. Gio smiled a wolf smile. She felt the heat of his hands like a brand.

"You are torturing me," she groaned.

"I sure hope so," Gio said against her mouth.

"Continue," she begged.

His touch was like fingers of lightning igniting her skin. Betty pressed against him, nibbling along his jawline, moaning softly.

"Let me help you out of your sweater," she volunteered. Gio allowed her to.

"You're beautiful," she said.

"That's my line, babe," Gio insisted and helped her out of the rest of her clothes.

Betty forgot the lights were on. She wanted to see him, every second of this. Not hurrying, drawing out the delicious teasing of deliberate delay, they kissed, they stroked. Gio trailed hot kisses all over her body. She gasped and sighed and moaned as he explored her with his lips and tongue. It drove her wild and stirred the heat building in her body. Her hands moved over his bare chest and dropped to the belt at his waist – tugging, pushing, fumbling.

Eager to come to each other, skin against skin, they broke apart. They finished undressing – and then looked at each other, almost shyly in the clear light.

"I like the look of you, Giovanni Rossi," Betty murmured hoarsely, touching the smooth skin of his stomach with a trembling hand.

"Don't tease me baby," he responded and embraced her, giving her not a moment to think or talk or analyze…

Afterward – if it hadn't been such a cliché, Betty would have told Gio that she had never experienced making love like that. She would have told him that she had never known that she was capable of soaring to such heights of pleasure. They lay tangled in each other's arms, panting for breath.

She opened her mouth to tell him anyway, but he leaned over her and kissed her again. He trailed kisses along her jawline, towards her breasts. The wanting began again in the hot pit of Betty's stomach.

This time they tortured each other with kisses and caresses. They were delighting in each tiny gasp of wondering discovery, in each groan of pleasure. They brought each other to ecstasies on ecstasies.

Exhausted, sated, thoroughly well loved, Betty fell asleep, a smile of drowsy contentment on her lips, Gio's body spooning her into a warm curve.

She wasn't sure it was real when she woke up.

"Rise and shine, babe!" Gio handed her a cup of coffee. He looked wonderful. His hair was still damp from the shower. Betty sat up and pulled the sheet over her breasts – his glance had already danced there. His dark eyes flashed and sparkled with the joy of the new morning.

"You won't believe the dream I had last night," he grinned at her.

"If it was anything like my dream, it was amazing," Betty laughed.

"I think I'm still living my dream," Gio said. "There's a gorgeous naked woman in the bed I'm sitting on…" He wound a strand of her hair around his wrist. "You handcuff me, woman!"

"Let me get out of bed, please!"

"Who's stopping you?" He showed his dimples.

Betty gave him a look.

"I suppose this means you are not a morning person, huh?" Gio guessed. "And that leads me to concluding you aren't interested in… morning…" He whistled a happy tune, giving her the cocker spaniel look. Hopefully he added: "And I am truly willing to be proven wrong!"

"Not in this world," Betty finished her coffee and felt she was part of the human race.

"I'm making efforts here – being a sensitive guy. Life must have been so much easier when guys could be pigs…"

"Dry toast," Betty said. "OJ. Eggs scrambled. Two slices of bacon…"

"Still an eater!"

Betty threw a pillow after him – and missed him by purpose.

"I still respect you, babe!" Gio declared before he made it to the kitchen, avoiding the last of her pillow artillery.

The eggs were perfect. Bacon was perfect. The OJ – well, he hadn't had much choice but to pour the OJ. It was a cheap brand.

"Next time I'll make fresh OJ," he said.

"Next time…."

"I'm pushing it again, huh?" Gio turned serious. A glimmer of softness showed in his gaze. "I did that last time. I was so full of myself, I had all the answers and was all too eager to bless you with them – believing they were as right for you as they were to me. But you weren't there yet then, B, were you?"

"No." Betty wanted to throw herself into his arms. "But this is now."

"You don't know it all," he said.

Betty felt a sharp pain in her chest. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm totally crazy about you. Wild as a mad rabbit. And I would like to see you again. I don't want to leave. But…"

"Just tell me. I can take it!" Betty sank down on one of the kitchen stairs.

"I'm moving overseas," Gio said. "I quit '30 Rock' to move on with my cooking career. The cook book is one step along the road. The next is a sous chef job at the restaurant a friend og Jamie's runs…"

"Europe?" Betty whispered, feeling the blood drain out of her face. He couldn't be serious.

"Australia," Gio answered. "Melbourne. The _'Fifteen'_ restaurant there. It's a huge chance for me. And I really had nothing keeping me here…"

"Is Australia – a permanent thing?"

He shook his head. "A year or two. The plan is to do another year in England after that. In one of '_Jamie's Italian'_ restaurants. As a chef."

"You guys really hit it off, huh?"

"What can I say?"

"You must take the job," she said. "You will take the job."

"I'll be back here after max three years," he said. "It could be time for a Jamie restaurant here then. We're fondling the idea…"

Three years. They had already wasted lots of years.

"How soon?"

"January," Gio said. "There are some weeks left of this year."

She nodded. "I don't believe in long distance relationships. You know I don't. How lonely do we get any ordinary Tuesday before we say 'this isn't working?'"

"What are _you _saying?" He looked at her with sadness as he waited for her answer.

"Oh, Gio!" she sighed.

He came around the table and finally drew her into his arms. He buried his face in her hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her so tightly she could hardly breathe.

"Can't we just enjoy the time we have left?" he whispered.

Betty closed her eyes. "I have done this before. There's never a happy ending to this story, Gio."

"So what do we do?" he asked. He wasn't going to say the L-word to her when they might be breaking up the next minute.

"I love you, Gio," Betty said – almost surprised by the strength of her feelings. "I love you."

Gio still swallowed the word. He kissed her as he had kissed no other woman. Words couldn't be adequate. He hoped his kiss could tell her what no words could express. It was deep and passionate. His lips and body tried to paint his love for her, tried to tell her that he loved her with a depth and passion that would never fade. She was his heart, his center of existence, the missing piece of himself. He tried to tell her that his love was true enough to survive the distance and the time.

It was a lot to ask from a kiss.

He came close to succeeding.

Tears spilled down Betty's cheeks.

"Hush, don't you cry, B!" Gio brushed her tears away with shaking fingertips.

"There will be no long distance relationship, Gio," Betty said. "I'll come to Australia with you."

"What?" Gio didn't believe his own ears.

"I'm sure they educate journalists in Australia as well…"

"I'm sure they do. Do you really want to leave your family?"

"The way I feel about you, Gio – you are my family. I want to be with you. I will follow my heart. I love you."

"Australia it is then," Gio smiled. "Are you going to regret this decision? Will you miss NY?" he breathed against her lips.

"I'll maybe miss NY," Betty said. "But regrets? Never. Not as long as we are together."

"I love you, Suarez," Gio said, knowing full well he made it possible for her to break his heart once again. Trusting she never would.

(for those of you who want to try Gio's soup, go to .com/recipes/soup-and-salad/superb-squash-soup-with-the-best-parmesan-croutons )


	17. Epilogue

WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER, EPILOGUE

"So what do you think?" The female assistant looked at her producer boss through her strong contacts. Till she started this job, she wore glasses. She'd invested in lenses for the interview and had never gone back to glasses. In this setting she wouldn't ever mention it. They all pretended Ugly was in, that Ugly was the new Beautiful, but no one really believed that for a second.

"What I think?" her boss responded with a grin.

"You have read it?" the PA breathed, she could feel sweat slowly rolling down her spine. Her upper lip was slightly damp. "You all have read it?" She allowed her glance to sweep every person circling the round table. She couldn't help thinking of King Arthur. That was what you were left with after British boarding school – too much cultural education. And where had it brought her? To TV business in America.

"We have all read it," one of the female writers said in a soft voice. She tried to help. Not that it gave the PA neither hope nor extra confidence. But it always was a woman who tried to be nice.

The PA had liked the synopsis, draft, call it what you like, when she found it in the mail. Had it arrived in her computer mailbox, she would have deleted it like that. One touch and goodbye. That was so much harder when you held an envelope in your hands and a heavy manuscript fell out of it. Someone had spent a lot of time writing that, someone cared a lot for their product, someone wanted to help. And she had read it – and liked it, and as the writer was a fellow European, she'd done the unthinkable. She had copied it all to her boss and to the writers of the show. She had passed it on with a note less enthusiastic than she felt.

"_Maybe we can use parts of this? It has its moments. And ratings still are lower than expected. E.E. Austen." _

"You mean well, EE," her boss sighed, "and I suppose the so called writer of this … girlie fantasy does the same…" He smiled and seemed to show more teeth than was normal. They were shiny white. EE made a mental note she had to whiten her teeth ASAP. Little things mattered in her field. A wrong hairdo could stop a career.

"First – this is way too long for a synopsis. I would have expected you, Emma Elizabeth, to take this…" he laid his hand flat on the brick of paper, "…down to say two pages. Would have saved us all lots of time."

EE blushed. She nodded though she didn't agree. He was her boss. Read: He was right. Always. This job paid her bills. "I thought you would enjoy some of the details," she said, keeping her smile.

"There are things we can use," one of the male writers said. "I made some notes." He pointed to the screen of his notebook.

"Second," the hot shot producer said, ignoring them both, "this is a piece of amateur writing. Notice: I didn't say crap!" He smiled and was met with smiles. EE pressed her jaws together. "You say details, Emma Elizabeth. Details. I tell you, we have several details that are not close to being correct. From which company 'Hell's Kitchen' is run by to Oprah's being married. Whoever wrote this didn't check details. No research done. I say – is there internet access on the South Pole?"

They all laughed. All but EE. She was pretty sure there was – she had checked the webpages of the Amundsen-Scott station, address Antarctica. To her it seemed the writer had done the same. But she swallowed her comment. She had risked her job passing on the manuscript to her boss. Obviously she should have filed it in the dustbin.

"And I don't see the writer has captured the characters' inner self. This isn't my Betty. Not my Daniel. Certainly not my Hilda. And the rest are practically – gone. Where is Marc? Where is Amanda? Where is Wilhelmina? Betty's life – _my_ Betty's life is all about work. Where is Mode in this? This is a mushy love story – and I thought we agreed to avoid that?"

"Bringing back Gio might be an idea," one of the ladies said. She was merely suggestive, she didn't push it. "Viewers liked him. Some of them, anyway. The Latin viewers liked him. He brought a solid fan base from '_Six Feet Under'_. Women followed him to the screens. Women have credit cards. And Freddy and America had great chemistry…"

"So had America and Chris," the man next to the woman commented.

"_Bringing back Gio is not an option_," the producer said.

Silence. All eyes turned to him.

"Face it, folks," he said. "As the ratings go these days, is Freddy willing to return to the show? He doesn't need us to butter his toast now. He is a shooting star. He'll want challenging storylines. He'll want a fatter cheque. And I really don't want this show to be a who gets the girl-show. We're going mature here, showing the struggling first years of a future career woman. Betty doesn't need a man. She'll understand that when we have thrown a couple of dozen more pathetic love interests at her. Career people can't have relationships. How difficult is that to understand? Hello! It's either career or family. This is no kiddy show. This is no afternoon soapie for brain dead housewives…"

"_The Getty Girls."_ It was a whisper, a male whisper – Emma Elizabeth didn't get who actually uttered the forever banned words on this premises.

Her boss gave them all a stare. _"I am never giving in to those militant nutcase passive aggressive bitches,"_ he declared. "They do not represent our target group!"

Amen to that.

"So how are we saving next season?" one amongst his writing staff asked.

"I have some ideas," the big man answered. "I've contacted a dozen agents both here and in Europe. We're thinking Katie Holmes. She wouldn't mind doing a guest appearance. We might get Tom too. They come as a package, right?"

"TomKat?" EE asked. "And they will do _what_?"

"Whatever," her boss said, shrugging his shoulders. "What do I know? We haven't written that yet. But Katie and Tom are Katie and Tom, right? For all I know Tom Cruise is Amanda's father."

Giggles around the table.

The boss had warmed up. He could go on forever. "There are aspiring young musicians and coming actors willing to do say max five episodes as Betty's old high school mates, old neighbors, kids who were nasty with her in playschool. That kid from 'Twilight' – what's his name?? Who cares, anyway, well, I see him as an undie model Betty has a short romance with. No lasting love, mind you. And I am negotiating with Colin Firth's agent… picture him as the older man – the mentor, whom Betty falls hopelessly for. Max two episodes – we can't afford more. Colin Firth doesn't come for nickel and dimes…"

"Isn't Colin Firth a tad old?" EE asked.

"Bridget Jones liked him, didn't she? "her boss asked and didn't see her concern. "Same business as our girl, right? And women worldwide swoon over his wet shirt scene…"

"With all respect," EE said, trying hard not to burst into laughter, "that was _years _ago! If you want some British actor – why don't you go for Ewan McGregor?"

"He's planned some motor biking trip across South America. Patagonia, I think. Somewhere." The boss gave her shrug. "He was our first choice, obviously. Couldn't be done. That man is a nutter. MC rides far away from civilization… ugh!"

_That man has integrity_, EE thought. Ewan climbed her list over favorite persons.

"Colin Firth still is hot!" One of the women speaking. "I totally believe in this older man- admiring young woman-relationship. With Colin Firth as the experienced mentor, as the mature love interest – who wouldn't believe it? It'll take the ratings to the sky!"

_He's your age, _EE thought_. Not Betty's. Colin Firth and Betty – that was gross!_

"We have plenty of plans for Betty," the producer said. "We'll allow her to develop. To grow. And in the end, all our viewers will agree we made the right choices. I have the big picture here…" He tapped his temple. "In all honesty: Gio was a side track. But do we want the viewers he attracted?"

No one answered.

"I never saw Freddy Rodriguez as hot," the producer smiled. "Gael Garcia is sexy, Jude Law is sexy, Johnny Depp is sexy. Brad Pitt will be sexy till he's 95." Silence. "Freddy Rodriguez? Nah…"

_Freddy Rodriguez is super hot, super sexy, super sizzling swoonably überlovely - and super attractive_, Emma Elizabeth thought, but she didn't have a say.

"This was a slightly fun read," the big man said, "but sadly a waste of time. EE, will you collect all samples and run them through the shredder, please?"

She nodded. Showing her disappointment wouldn't help. She had done her best, but her boss didn't listen. He saw the big picture – and didn't notice it was hopelessly outdated. She rated herself as their target viewer group, but never once had her boss listened to what she tried to say about the show. He just assumed this was nothing more than a job to her. He didn't understand than she honestly loved Betty – that she wanted the very best for her, even if she understood she was a fiction character. Sometimes Betty was just as vividly alive to Emma as her friends, most of the time she was more alive than the folks at the office.

Well, she had tried.

"You really don't want to use anything from this?" she asked – just to be sure, when she embraced all the copies. They were a heavy load.

Her bossed gave her a broad smile, "To quote the writer of this masterpiece, Emma Elizabeth: _When hell freezes over!" _

THE END

_(PS – this masterpiece is dedicated the enthusiastic, dedicated, fabulous, caring, loving, brilliant Getty Girls. We will survive, we will stay enthusiastic, we will continue talking, we will always be obsessing and swooning... love you lots! ES) _


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